


The Long Walk

by DemonShuriken87



Series: The Long Walk [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Brazil, Drunk Sex, F/M, Graphic sex later, Heavy Drinking, ICT, It gets pretty smutty, Major Character Injury, N7, N7 training, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reapers, Slow Romance, Some major kink, Strippers, Trust Issues, War, hints of f/f, not going to lie, shuttle sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 119,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonShuriken87/pseuds/DemonShuriken87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James didn't think he had it in him to leave London six months after the destruction of the Reapers. But, when Shephard, from her hospital bed all hooked up with tubes and stitches, assures him that humanity will be fine, that what they needed now was builders and planners, James enrolls in the N7 program, and into the second hardest thing he's ever done in his life. If Hell Month doesn't kill him, a certain new biotic N5 with an attitude just might. Note to self: never disrespect biotics to a Fury Adept's face.</p><p>Also, I don't fucking care, I'm making it to where EDI and the Geth live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hard Way

**Author's Note:**

> This has slow relationship building. It also has intense war flashbacks to the Reaper invasion, and throughout ME3, for both my female OC and James. I'm also basing some of the Adept abilities on the Multiplayer abilities, particularly the Fury Adept. There is no actual described NonCon, but it is mentioned. 
> 
> This is my first Mass Effect fanfiction, and I'm somewhat nervous to write it. I've done other fandoms before, but the shear scope of the Mass Effect universe is insane, and too much fun not to dabble in. This fanfiction will have a lot of Original Characters, and the only canon characters to appear will be few and far between in the first few chapters, while James is going through the N7 training legs. This work is also unbeta'd, as my beta is currently in the middle of the wilderness camping, so I'll make due. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One:**

**The hard way**

How long does it take to get the N7 program back on its feet after an invasion by ancient, sentient AI’s hell bent on harvesting the planet and all organic life smart enough to pilot space ships? About six weeks. That’s how long it took the System Alliance to get The Villa back up and running in Brazil, and that’s how long it took for James Vega to receive a courteous reminder that he was invited to participate in the program.

But, with Shepard still in the hospital, and Major Kaidan Alenko having to run humanity’sside of the Council’s Specter missions, James faltered on if he could join just yet. So, he decided to consult the only authority left within a hundred mile radius on the program, and the only person he’d trust with his life without a second thought.

James slid the door closed behind him in Shepard’s hospital room. She turned to him, and he thought, even with all those tubes, staples, stiches, and gauze wrappings, her aura of complete calm and control remained intact. She attempted a smile, but the staples along her jaw line, keeping her face from trying to fall apart, prevented her. Instead, she motioned him to the chair next to her bed.

He grinned.

“You and Scars are gonna match now,” he observed.

Shepard rolled her eyes as best she could, resting against the pillow behind her.

James hated hospitals. They reminded him of his grandmother’s passing, of seeing her so feeble and weak and teetering on the edge of life. The smell bothered him, always had. Nothing should smell that clean, and whoever chose white as the color of the walls, floor, and ceiling should be shot. He took a seat, staring at the commander he’d run into and out of hell with.

“Yeah, he keeps saying that. He’s lucky he’s cute,” she rasped. A feeding tube was pinned to her gown, a bright yellow reminder of the very, very close call she’d had with death.  His first visit to see her, a month ago when they woke her from her medically induced coma, he heard Garrus arguing at Shepard. He admonished her, telling her that what she did was reckless, that she almost died, that she wouldn’t have kept her promise to not leave him alone. He heard Scars exclaim that she’d said she wouldn’t do something so stupid again, not after going into the deep after Leviathan, but Shepard just laid there and took it, a big grin on her face.

James still couldn’t get the image of Garrus finally falling to his knees and grasping Shepard’s hands as she placed them on his damaged mandible. That day, James left, deciding it would be best for the two to have their moment alone. Since then, Scars came as often as he could. With the turians stranded on Earth until the Mass Relays were repaired, he became a negotiator and organizer of the remaining turian troops in the area. So far, the turians were adapting well to life on Earth, but most were understandably anxious to return to their respective homes—and to actual turian cooking.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, James?” Shepard asked. She folded her beat up hands on her lap. Though she looked bad, the doctors told the squad that she would make a full recovery. Sure, she’d have some impressive scars that came with an impressive backstory, but all in all she’d have full mobility and could return to duty.

James firmed his lips, unsure where to start. They had talked about the N7 program in-depth not too long ago. Both in her cabin and on the Citadel before the final push he’d come to her, asking advice. Now, his reservations seemed petty compared to what Shepard had gone through.

He fished out the data pad.

“Can you read okay?” he asked.

Shepard nodded.

“Might need some help holding it, I don’t have full function of my fingers yet, but yeah, my eyes are fine.”

James scooted closer and held the pad up for Shepard to read. He gnawed the inside of his mouth, unsure what she would say other than he should do it. James wasn’t sure what he wanted her to tell him. Sure, she supported him going into the program because he was _one of the best damn soldiers I’ve ever seen_ , but he supposed he wanted someone to listen to his concerns.

Her brows ticked a bit, and if she were capable of it, he was sure she’d frown. She swallowed, her throat thick and making a weird noise with the tube down it, before she turned to him with a serious look.

“Isn’t this a good thing? You said you wanted this before the last push,” she said.

“Yeah, I remember. I just…” he waved a hand around, as if reaching for the words. She watched him as he fumbled. Shit, he never was any good at this kind of crap. Heart to heart talks? He liked it better when he was just ripping into large groups of those fucking husks than trying to justify why he had a hard time with this. He firmed his lips again, wringing his hands in his lap. “It feels selfish,” he concluded.

Shepard quirked an eyebrow at him. She moved her shoulders like she would on the Normandy before she leaned against a wall when talking to him. He could just picture her watching him clean his gun out, or do his pull ups, with that same contemplative, permissive look.

“James, why do you think it’s selfish?”

James once likened Shepard to the best psychologist money could buy. She’d helped him through so much shit while on the Normandy, so much mental garbage that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to go to an actual shrink again. The way she leveled him with that look made her patience all the more apparent.

He cleared his throat, lifting the data pad from her bed.

“With all the shit that’s happened, that’s still happening, it feels selfish to just go off and do this. I mean, I want to, you know I do,” he scowled. He resisted the urge to ruffle his mohawk like his uncle used to do.

“Yeah, and?”

“But, I can’t justify leaving London, leaving you guys here while I go off and try to get my ass promoted,” he said. There it was. The reason he hadn’t responded to the message he received two weeks ago. He couldn’t leave London when it still looked like an atomic bomb had gone off. Sure, the Reapers were dead, and sure, their ugly monsters went with them, but rebuilding took time and man power. Everyone the rebuilding effort lost due to personal wandering, was one less person that was helping in the effort. It smacked in the face of all his military service, his time with the Normandy, had been about.

Put others before your needs. Put your squad before yourself. No one gets left behind. These mottos that James lived by… he couldn’t just toss them aside to go after the N7 program, no matter how much he’d always wanted to see Brazil.

Shepard stretched her fingers out on her lap, regarding him with a speculative look.

“It isn’t selfish, James. At this point, the rebuilding process needs engineers, brick layers, metalworkers, and construction people more than soldiers. We’ve killed the Reapers, the last of their forces have been put down, and whatever gangs are trying to start up are being dealt with. Now’s the best time for you to go,” she concluded. A small twitch at the edge of her lips was as close as she could get to a smile. “And you damn well deserve that promotion.”

“Shepard, look, I,” she held up a hand, and then promptly winced at how quick she moved.

“We’ll be fine.”

“But, doesn’t Major Alenko need help with his Specter duties? I mean, surely he-”

Shepard’s eyes glinted at him, like they had all those other times he had interrupted her, or questioned her judgment. He didn’t miss the way her hand slipped down to her side, the side he couldn’t see, or miss the slight beep of a button being pushed. He pretended to not notice the sudden flood of relief in Shepard’s face, her brow softening just a bit.

“Kaidan has the rest of the squad on his side, as well as special Specter operatives to help him on his missions. James, we’ll be fine. You go do you. I’m not going anywhere,” a small grin ghosted her eyes and James knew what she was thinking. If she stayed in London, so would Garrus. A small ache pulled at James’ chest, but he slammed it back down into the corners of his brain. Not over any attraction to the commander, well, yeah, he was attracted, he wasn’t made of stone after all, but over the love and affection that the turian and human had formed over the last three years of pure hell. He wondered what that felt like. Parts of him hungered for a connection so strong that it would pull him back from the brink of death just to be with a lover again.

James turned from her and looked at all the monitors hooked up to Shepard. He caught the slight dip in the medi-gel supply, a reserve with less in it than when he’d entered. He caught the way Shepard struggled to keep her head up now, her lashes starting to stick together for longer and longer periods of time between blinks.

 _Time to go_. The longer she slept, the doctors told him, the faster her body repaired itself. Her biotic implants did some of the heavy lifting, especially after Cerberus rebuilt her from scratch, but she was still human. He cleared his throat and stood from his chair.

She started, glancing up at him through the blearily haze of pain killers. The prognosis still buzzed around his ears from the last time he’d talked to Scars about her recovery. Her road stretched on before her, long and winding and full of undoubted pitfalls, but clear of Reapers.

James smiled as broad as he could.

“You need your rest, Lola. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She rested her head back against the pillow again, her hair puffing out onto the white fabric behind.

James touched the tip of a bundle of flowers Scars had brought the last time he visited a day ago. Funny how he’d stopped trying to count how many bouquets Garrus managed to fit into the room, and how fast James got used to the overpowering floral scent when he entered. This time, he’d asked Tali what flowers she thought were Shepard’s favorites: star lilies. She was wrong, but they brought some needed color to the overly white room.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So, I heard you accepted the invite to that special program all the human marines go on about.”

James took a long swig of his beer, letting the cold liquid wash down the back of his throat. It spread a nice, warm feeling from his stomach throughout his body, and hazed his mind just right after his fourth bottle. He glanced sidelong to where Garrus busied himself in what would be Shepard’s massive apartment when she got out. The Alliance made sure that the Hero of Earth, and her crew, were well compensated for their part in the final push against the Reapers. The place was massive, with a living room that a whole battalion of krogan could sprawl out in and not take up all the space. The kitchen swallowed the turian as he shuffled around, trying to put away what groceries he picked up at the dextro-friendly shop down the road.

James grabbed another lime wedge and forced it down the neck of his beer. The citrus fruit bled into the amber liquid, causing swirls that never ceased to make James smile.

“Yeah, I guess. Shepard just about beat me for asking her about it.”

Garrus hummed under his breath, though the harmonics that existed in all turian’s voices caused it to be louder than he intended in the expanse of a kitchen.

“Even when mortally wounded, she still manages to crack some skulls… that’s my girl.” Garrus stood, his mandibles flicking by his mouth in slight peevish annoyance. “This damn place is too big! I can only ever fill up two, maybe three cabinets.”

James snickered and took another swig of his drink. Though Garrus couldn’t drink it, he’d picked up James’ favorite label of cervices on his way back. The two hung out together whenever there was time. Cortez often popped in too. Garrus wouldn’t say it, but he hated having the apartment all to himself. Everywhere he looked, he saw where Shepard would put something, where she’d stumble over a ledge, or where she’d swear at her communication interface. The ghost of someone still living flittered around Garrus’ brain while alone, so he wanted, needed, company as often as possible. The crew were only too happy to oblige. Living through what they all had, gave them a sense of belonging when together, and being lost when apart.

“That’s what living on a frigate for the past I don’t even know how long will do to you.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m just now starting to be able to stretch my legs out completely again. Do you know what cramped spaces do to a turians carapace, much less his flexibility?”

“So it’s a good thing Shepard isn’t out yet to test your ‘flexibility’, eh?”

Garrus stopped and shot him a somewhat suspicious stare.

“Dude, everything gets passed around the Normandy, of course I know.”

“EDI?”

“Joker.”

“Through EDI.”

“Yep.”

“Damn,” Garrus grumbled, though a proud grin worked at his eyes.

They matched each other, in an odd way. Shepard was tough as nails, and James was pretty sure she had a few screws loose, but she was a hero through and through. No loss of life was acceptable to her. ‘Ruthless calculi’ didn’t exist, she was a paragon straight to her core. Whereas Garrus lived almost completely opposite. He entertained the thoughts of sacrificing one planet to save another, he respected the ways of their enemies even if he didn’t agree with them, and he thought the human adage of ‘an eye for an eye’ was a good motto in life. Put the two together, you had what James considered the most destructive, and protective, force in the galaxy.

The turian pulled at the collar of his casual wear. Since the war ended, he’d tried to get used to wearing civvies again, but he didn’t like the feel of light, unarmored fabric had on his carapace.

“So, Jimmy Vega, when are you shipping out?” Garrus asked.

James watched the scarring on the side of the turians face as his mandibles flicked. Shepard still had nightmares about that rocket hitting Garrus. During the last few missions of the war, James heard firsthand the lengths the former C-Sec officer was willing to go to calm the commander down. Let’s just say that Garrus didn’t sleep with the crew or down in the weapons hold during the last few weeks of the war.

“Three days.”

“If there’s one thing to be said about the Alliance, they don’t dawdle. Now, if only they had taken that initiative with the Commander’s warning, maybe the hospital wouldn’t look like a whale landed on it.”

James snorted, resisting a smile. The hospital that the commander became assigned to, as well as her security detail, was one of the better off ones. It only had one collapsed wall that the Alliance worked hard to patch up as fast as possible. The halls were still lined with the injured, but Shepard, the Commander fucking Shepard, received what used to be an office for a head surgeon. A room all to herself to speed her recovery along was just what the doctor ordered.

“Yeah, well, after seeing all the shit that went down, I’m not sure it would’ve done much good. How can the galaxy possibly prepare for those fuckers?”

“ _Not_ would be my guess,” Garrus pulled one of his own glasses out of the cupboard, under the island that James was planted at. He fished around a bit before pulling out a bottle of turian brandy, his features softening a bit. James understood that face, had seen many times on the Normandy since picking up the turian on Palaven. No one spoke of the Reapers sober, not even after they’d all be wiped out.

“At least she gets an awesome room.”

“And an awesome apartment. Bit big, though, and what is with the Alliance and giant windows? Do you know how long it took me to get them to change the glass to Level Five bullet proof glass? You would think they’re trying to kill her!”

James shot a look to the living room. The whole east facing side of the house was made of floor to ceiling windows, looking over the river Thames, and with only the faintest hints of rubble ruining the view.

“Yeah, well, they probably think no one would be stupid enough to go after a famed Reaper killer, and savoir of the galaxy.”

Garrus made a guttural grunt, sipping at the triple distilled drink. The turian smiled, or what James had learned was one-the turians faces weren’t exactly malleable like the other races-as he enjoyed the rush of relieve over him.

“You’d be surprised. I couldn’t even count the amount of people wanting to kill her after the Battle for the Citadel.”

“Do Collectors count as people?”

Garrus paused, his fingers tapping against the glass in his hand.

“Probably not. Mordin said they were more machine than organic, and that their thoughts were controlled by Harbinger.”

“Ugly fuckers.”

“Quite.”

“I wonder what being indoctrinated feels like.”

“You want me to revive the Illusive Man, and ask him myself?”

“Nah, I’m good. From the sounds of it, dude had, like, no skin by the end of it. And glowing eyes. Glowing eyes would be kinda cool, though.”

Garrus took his turn to laugh, leaning back against the counter behind him. His thoughts went somewhere far off, somewhere that James couldn’t reach, so instead he chose to drink in the comfortable silence. They all had trigger moments that made them lost to that final fight—for Garrus, it was thinking about Shepard, alone, on the citadel with the Catalyst. James’ trigger was being forced into tight spaces, and saw running back onto the Normandy, dragging Scars along after him, while he watched London burn.

James chugged the rest of his beer.

“So,” Garrus cleared his throat, shifting just enough that the spikes at the end of his legs didn’t scrape the cabinets. “What’s this training program like, anyway? Shepard won’t ever tell me, says it’s classified. Not that your human training is anything like the turian army. You wouldn’t last three days there, Vega.”

“Yeah, yeah, Scars, I get it, you’re a bad ass.”

“Damn right I am.”

James put his empty beer down. Condensation rolled down the sides of the bottle, pooling onto the stone countertops. How they’d managed to get enough granite, or marble, or whatever the fuck fancy stone they put on countertops these days, was beyond him. All the stores that sold that crap were rubble, and the refineries needed to mine it weren’t considered high priority to rebuild. He thumbed his lower lip.

“Dunno, really. They might’ve changed it up since the Reapers hit. Before the war, the first two months are called the Double Hell. You train for 20 hours a day, with very little food, just enough for you to survive, and just enough sleep to keep you from going loco. Then, if you pass Double Hell, you get to start running mock missions. Somewhere, you get your test to get promoted to N2. After that, it’s kind of hush-hush. Not a lot of people get to be N7’s. Lola’s the first one I served under, besides Anderson.”

“Sounds rough,” Garrus said.

“Yeah, well, can’t be any rougher than fighting the damn Reapers.”

“Think all your muscle is going to get in the way? You’re not exactly petite, Vega,” Garrus goaded.

“Hey, hey, I figure if they didn’t when fighting Banshee ~~’~~ s and out running those damn Rachni, then they’ll be fine in the ICT.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that. I don’t think you’ll have enough protein to maintain your girth.”

“Nothing can reduce my girth.”

Garrus groaned, rolling his eyes the best a turian could.

“Never change, Vega.”

James popped open another beer, leaned back in the chair, and changed the topic. He had three days to kill before shipping out to Brazil, so why not try to have as much fun as possible before starting ICT? Maybe he’d even look up Grunt and Wrex—the krogan always know how to party.

 

 

 

 


	2. Furys and Destroyers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James' arrives to the ICT in Rio de Janeiro, and encounters the people he'll spend the next three months of his life with. He's introduced to the topic of specialized soldiers in the N7 programs, and the concept that he might be tried out for the Soldier Destroyer rank if he so wishes. He also acquaints himself with Iras Bennet, a Fury Adept candidate, and expert at taking underwear shots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iras is a former member of Spec Op Team Delta, and though this will be revealed later in the plot, I feel it necessary to somewhat reveal what Spec Op Team Delta is. If you're unfamiliar with Spec Ops Delta, they're a War Asset from ME3. Their description is as follows: 
> 
> Half of team Delta's officers have an N5 designation, with a few N6 soldiers in the ranks. They specialize in conflicts outside Citadel space. Delta is known for strict admission standards, professionalism on high-stakes missions, and the Alliance's loudest parties. When asked how senior staff looks at their off-duty rowdiness, Captain Matthew Brown was quoted saying "After the shit we went through in the Terminus Systems, they're just happy we're not burning down the base."
> 
> Also, the first few chapters are on the short side, but they do start to become longer as we go along. 
> 
> Again, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

 

 

**Chapter Two:**

**Fury’s and Destroyer’s**

 

You can always spot a soldier with PTSD having an attack from a mile away. They always got this far off look to their face, off world, anywhere but right in front of you. They’re off in their own headspace, back in that fight or that death that caused the damn disorder to begin with. A soldier can only be so on edge for so long, can only take being in the frame of mind that war takes for so long, before it imprints into their brains.

Most survivors of the Reaper War had PTSD, and even six months out, many often triggered every day. The wounds from the War were still too fresh, but some had begun to fester. No two people’s triggers are the same, some might be similar, but not exactly the same. James’ was fresh cut grass, the smell of burning motor oil, and children screaming—it all brought back that first flight from Earth to Mars, though he hadn’t shown how much it screwed him up back then.

Even now, he could see the soldier across from was in the middle of a flashback. His pupils were dilated, his palms were starting to sweat, and had that slack-jawed, paper white look that they all got during an attack. James wondered what his trigger had been, what about this shuttle on the approach to the ICT training facility caused him to relive the nightmare. Enclosed spaces were supposed to be a common one, but James didn’t have that. No, it was big spaces, large expanses, like during the final push in London, which rattled him. Open spaces meant more places for the Reapers to see you, to attack you, but… James supposed he didn’t need to think about that anymore.

The soldier having the attack was younger than James had a taste for. He couldn’t be older than twenty three, and his hands barely had the wear and tear of a soldier forged in the heat of battle. He was Asian, probably Japanese, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline. He watched the boys eyes dart back and forth, his omni-tool flickering and glowing with the stress induced summons.

 _He’s gotta be an engineer_ , James thought. Only Engineers have omni’s that responded that fast.

James knew better than to try and snap a person out of an attack, it was a good way to get hurt.

The shuttle lurched a bit before beginning descent. With all the grace of a drunk deer, it touched down, and for the first time since landing at the port, James looked out the window. The Interplanetary Combatives Academy stood in large, crisp relief against the broken, and bruised foliage around it. With six big separate buildings connected by large hallways, one massive main building, and a courtyard that put the old Alliance command station to shame, it gleamed in the sunlight and made James feel the first tug of nerves. The old pain, the old pang of guilt over the colonists, over April, swelled up before he could mash it back down.

The door to the shuttle hissed open. The five other applicants sheltered with him all unbuckled, and luckily the landing had snapped the kid in front of him out of his own personal hell. James followed suite, ducking out of the shuttle, and into the humid Brazilian air.

Three military brass stood to greet them. One was Admiral Hackett, with a small, pleased grin on his face. James remembered how often Shepard stayed up for long hours, hashing out strategies with the Admiral on where, and who, to recruit or hit next. Beside Hackett was a sharp looking man, with a buzzed head and deep set amber eyes. The stripes on his uniform pegged him for a General, and the way he held his arms crossed under his chest pegged him for an asshole. Finally, a woman stood off to Hackett’s other side, and what she lacked in height she made up for in aura. She had the same air as Shepard, in total control, commanding only the utmost respect, and had the thinnest lips James had ever seen.

Hackett nodded at them all.

“Welcome, recruits, to the Interplanetary Combatives Academy.”

James and the other all stood in stiff salute.

“At ease,” the woman with the thin lips ordered.

Hackett bowed his head a bit to her before coming back to sweep his stare over them all. His gaze rested on James, a small tick at the corner of his mouth hinting at the barest of smirks helped to ease some of James’ nerves.

“You’ve been extended a once in a lifetime chance within the Alliance Navy. You are the best of the best, the shining examples of all that the Alliance stands for. For your outstanding achievements, some of you before the war, some of you during it, you have been given the chance to enroll in this Academy. This is the home of the N7 program, the ICT, where the most specialized of our soldiers are molded and turned from greatness, to legends.”

Hackett motioned towards the statue behind him, newly erected. Shepard stood in sharp, treated marble, her head held high, a phasetron in one hand, and her helmet in the other. On her chest was the only area made of metal, the insignia of the very program he’d just enlisted in: N7. He’d later learn that the section of metal that formed the N7 logo was from the destroyed Alliance Central Command headquarters, taken from several collapsed beams, and melted down to form a symbolic alloy.

“Not everyone can be a Shepard. Not everyone can stop a galactic invasion force of an ancient race of sentient machines. But, with the training you’ll receive here, if you should graduate, you will join ranks with only an elite few, of which Shepard is a stellar example. We lost many good men and women in the war, many of our N7’s were on the front lines, leading their troops, fighting for our last hope. _You_ , are the future of the Alliance. Good luck, and God Speed.”

Hackett nodded to the recruits, and once more James and the others saluted the Admiral. He turned on his heel and began to walk back towards the main building, his dress blues soaking up the noonday sun.

“Welcome, and congratulations on making it into the program. I am General Michal Acker, and while you are enrolled here, you answer to me. I am, in essence, the headmaster of this academy. I expect only the best,” the man James labelled an asshole spoke. He kept his hands behind his back, and he looked them all up and down.

The woman stepped forward, a small smile pulling at her small mouth.

“I am Major Caroline O’Brien, pleased to meet you all. Now, if you’ll all follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters, and you’ll be free to explore. You will start training tomorrow. Eat, a lot, and sleep, a lot, because when training starts both of these will be in very, very short supply.” Caroline stepped to the side, her hands folding behind her back, and nodded them through. James shouldered his duffle, his lips firming together. One after the other, they made their way towards the main building, and towards their futures in the Alliance.

 

* * *

 

 

James had no problem unpacking his stuff. The N1’s were given the grunt housing, rooms that housed up to six marines, and it reminded him sorely of basic. With such little space, he was grateful he brought only the most essential things for the first leg of the training. No other new recruits were to be seen, so they all were assigned the same room. With beds made of steel frames, and only the smallest trunk one could get away with and still call it a trunk, it was hardly anything to write home about. The good thing, though, was that the room had some pretty spectacular views. The forest grew just beyond the campus, and a river stretched lazily below them. Landing pads and a lot full of parked makos were hardly enough to spoil the sight.

After claiming his bed, not that he cared which he got but he made sure the only female in the group got the one in the far corner-it had the most privacy-he ducked out of the barracks and decided to explore. If he was going to live here for months on end, he might as well get to know the place.

The barracks was a building all on its own. Each level had different ranking officers. The N1’s sat on the ground floor, so that they could enter and leave the barracks with the fastest ease. The second floor housed the N2’s and N3’s, where, he was told, there were only two beds a room, and the bedframes weren’t made of agony and pain. Above that, the N5’s got their own floor, with their own rooms, and even their own load out locker. No one wanted to talk about what the N6’s got, but theirs was the very top of the barrack tower, and from what James could see, no one currently lived there. There were, however, plenty of N2-5’s.

From the barracks he traced his way along the C wing, where the cafeteria and de-stressing areas were located. Further down the C wing, where it split off into two areas, was where a bar and a lap pool were located. James resisted the urge to go for a swim. He had a feeling he’d get his fill of water soon enough.

D-wing, or the pressure cooker, was where the combat simulators were housed. There were two, one for small groups that reminded James of the Armax Arena on the Citadel before it exploded, and another on the second floor made to house large squads. D-wing was also where the many gyms were located. Each gym catered to a different career. The biotic students were given machines to help train their use of dark energy more effectively, while the soldiers were given mostly things to help improve physical endurance. The engineers had a similar set up to the soldiers, but theirs also possessed tech that Vega didn’t even begin to understand.

James was just slipping through the main floor’s biggest gym when he came upon the fight ring. Around the round, roped in arena, two marines were hopping in front of each other, a clock at the corner of the ring counting down. Of the two combatants, one was a woman. She had her dark blond hair piled high in a ponytail, though wisps still floated around her ears. A heavy scar from her chin blunted off the left side of her lip, and traced all the way until under her eye. A small pulse of blue energy coasted over her body as she warmed up. The other was a male, with a light build, shaved head, though looked strongly of Native American descent.

James toyed with the idea of continuing his exploration, but when the timer came closer and closer to zero, one of the marines on the sidelines shouted:

“No biotics, Iras! Fight fair.”

The woman rolled her eyes before the blue glow flickered off. She stopped her bouncing and planted down. She slid her front leg forward, until she was in a decided martial arts stance.

“Oh, c’mon,” the male hissed.

The counter buzzed, and a zero glared red in the digital interface.

James watched the male make the first mistake—he made the first move. He arced a punch towards the woman named Iras, who promptly grabbed his elbow and twisted it, sending the male thudding to the ground.

“Who wants to place bets?”

“What, against Iras? No way man. She’s way too fucking fast. And she’s a damn N5. Conrad’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, but, she’s a Fury, all of her agility comes from her biotics. In a hand to hand combat situation, she’s at a disadvantage.”

“Tell that to Conrad…”

James listened to the murmur of the others crowded around the ring. Conrad stood up, massaging his arm and a firm set to his jaw. Iras circled him, her body loose, and an intensity set in her steel grey eyes. Conrad feigned a kick to the left, and when she moved to dodge, he punched her square in the stomach. James heard her let out a grunt, but didn’t miss how she locked her arms around his elbow again. She took a few seconds to catch her breath before she bent her legs, and rolled back. She kicked him with all her force on the down roll, and sent him flying across the ring. Conrad landed with a small crack, his head bouncing like a ball.

“You wanted hand to hand combat sparring, Conrad. Are you just going to try to hit me, or are you actually going to?” James smirked despite himself as he watched the female marine roll her shoulders.

Conrad stood, shaking his head and hands, as if to rid himself of the tingling pulsing in both.

“Geez, can you stop with the throwing?”

“You’re an N4, Conrad, you need to be prepared for anything, including throwing. Do you think a krogan is going to just let you try to punch him in the face?”

“I wouldn’t be stupid enough to punch a krogan in the face.”

“Then why are you trying that with me?” Iras mocked, throwing her arms by her sides.

Conrad charged her, and James felt a sinking in his stomach. Iras moved to the side just as he was about to punch her in the face, but couldn’t avoid the kick to the back of her ankles. She crumpled to one knee, and narrowly avoided the knee headed for her face. With a grunt, James watched the woman fall back to her shoulders, grab Conrad by the neck between her calves, and twist her whole body. With another crack, Conrad met the floor. This time, however, Iras kept the pressure on his neck, and no matter how he grappled with her thighs, or flailed his legs around, he couldn’t move.

“Match! Iras wins.”

“Oh, fuck me!” Conrad yelled.

Iras released her hold, rolled onto her side, and discreetly nursed her shoulder. Conrad managed to sit up, but was glaring at the mat, his ears pink.

James watched Iras pull Conrad up, a small smirk pulling at the scar over her lip. He felt the familiar burn of wanting to join in a fight building up in his chest. He hadn’t seen a woman move like that since Shepard, and he idly wondered if all N7 women were this good. He turned to the nearest marine to him, a man with ear length blond hair, who was giving over a credit chit to a woman next to him. His face was sullen, a mark of someone who’d lost a bet.

“Hey, who’s that?” James asked.

The marine blinked at him, owlishly, like James had grown a second head. Then, he looked James over before his mouth formed a small ‘o’, recognizing Vega’s obvious newness to the program. He placed his hands on his hips and jerked his chin in the rings direction, where the combatants were busy unwrapping their hands of sparring tape.

“That’s Iras Bennett, Fury Adept candidate, N5, and expert at taking underwear shots. And that’s Conrad Kepler, no relation to _the_ Kepler, though. He’s an N4 Engineer, no specialization, and who obviously needs to work on his hand to hand,” the marine drawled.

James’ eyebrows rose to nearly his hairline. _Underwear shots_? He glanced sidelong to the woman in the ring, who was now rolling her shoulder with a bit of a grimace. She’d hit the mat pretty hard in that last move, she probably pulled a muscle, especially if she didn’t stretch right before the match.

“Fury Adept?” James decided to leave the underwear shot thing alone, for now.

“Yeah. Biotics under the Adept career tree are given the chance to try out for the Fury class. Lemme guess, you’re a soldier, through and through?” the man’s eyes swept over Vega. James couldn’t help the smile building at his features, and he bounced on his toes at the inspection.

“Damn straight.”

The marine nodded and sat back on his hips. The woman next to him had leaned over, taking in the sight of the new recruit. She was a mousy thing, with small eyes and equally small lips, but the scars down her neck and the tip of her missing ear pegged her as a survivor of the war.

“Then you’re going to end up being tried out for the Destroyer class. The specialization classes aren’t necessary to the program, and only a handful follow through with it, but it shows that you’re good enough to get in and graduate under that branch. Hell, Commander Shepard didn’t specialize.”

“She’s still an Adept, though, Berkley!”

Iras leaned against the ropes of the ring, a lazy grin on her face. The inclusion of the hero of the galaxy in a class of biotics brought pride to the woman’s face. It made her otherwise somewhat pale features glow. Now, no one could claim that biotics weren’t true soldiers. With Shepard’s record, biotics would now be seen as the _asset_ they were, and not something to be reviled.

She shot a look at Vega, her gaze taking him in much like the others. He quickly learned that this was to be the norm amongst the N2’s and up. Her fingers dug into her arm as she cocked her head to the side.

“New blood, eh? Guess we’re officially up and running. What’s your name?” she asked.

James liked her voice. Where Shepard’s was smooth and a little silky, Iras’ had a rasp to it, like the old rock singers from the 1960’s his _tito_ had shown him, and it grated on every nerve ending in his body. He noticed the tattoo peeking out from under her tank top, a dark blue swirl, and he wondered what it could be.

When he realized that he’d been silent a bit too long, and staring a bit too hard, he cleared his throat and crossed his arms under his chest.

“James Vega, second lieutenant.”

Iras raised her brows at him.

“Vega… sounds familiar… where did you serve?”

He couldn’t help the knot of pride that caught in his voice as he said, “The SSV Normandy, under Commander Shepard.”

The room went quiet, and all eyes turned to Vega. Before, he hadn’t realized how many people were murmuring and chattering to themselves and to others near them until his statement stilled them. He looked around, trying not to seem cocky despite the small smile on his lips. Iras stood up, her stare raking him over one more time. She had a stare that cut right through him, and in a way, he felt laid before her as she took him in. She hummed under her breath when she was done.

“Well, well… seems we have a war hero in the program. Those are some mighty big shoes to fill,” she said.

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about shoes.”

He watched the gears turn in her head, could almost hear her thinking, and the way her sharp eyes narrowed on him made something prickle up his spine. He resisted licking his lips in response.

Finally, the serious edge to her features flickered to a more relaxed stance.

“Ah, you’re a flirt. Not like we don’t have enough of those.” She shot a look at the guy next to Vega, her features momentarily souring. James took note of the unspoken tension.

“I’ve been called worse.”

There was an unsaid challenge floating in the air, and the other marines all watched the interaction with expectant looks. James glanced at the ring, to Iras, and back, vaguely deciding if he wanted to risk an injury before Hell. It reminded him too much of that first confrontation between Shepard and him in the Normandy’s shuttle bay, almost too good to pass up. She clicked her tongue at him before leaning on the ropes again, ignoring the way Conrad gracelessly fell through to the safety of the ground. He scrambled up to standing, and was busy patting the dust off his knees when she chuckled.

“We’ll see how big of a flirt you are if you finish your time in Hell,” she concluded.

James nodded, though felt a bit disappointed. She turned her back to him, stretching out one lean, powerfully built shoulder. The murmuring returned to the gym, and James felt his breath come back into his body. When had he started holding his breath? He watched Iras walk away, and his stomach still simmered for a fight.

The man to his right let out a long, slow exhale. He glanced over to James, a small frown pulling his face down.

 

* * *

 

 

She didn’t know how she got back here, but she always did. Whenever the night was long, quiet, and the room just the right temperature, she snapped back to this same place. Mortar shells rained down around her, bounding off the ground in big blooms of fire and energy, burning the air and releasing that acrid smell that came with war. What she could hear over the drums of explosions did nothing for her racing heart. Screams surrounded her, on all ends, and even with her own gun firing at a controlled, but panicked, rate, it didn’t drown them out.

Glowing blue eyes dashed at her, human like limbs reaching out, but with those cords dripping from the husk’s mouths they became disconnected to humans in her brain. She had no problem firing on things that were _no longer_ human. She shot one right in the middle of the bridge of its nose, between its eyes, and its skull exploded like a rotten melon hit with a heavy mallet.

“Bennet! Bennet, I need cover fire, now! God damn it, Bennet, respond!”

Iras turned just in time to witness one of her squad members become overrun with the hulking form of a Brute. It brought its claw arm right down into the middle of Hinojosmith’s chest, his armor no match for force behind the hit. She watched as the metal protecting her squad mate ripped, buckled, and blood erupted from the newly made canyon. Her body went numb, then rushed with the familiar heat of a flair. Blue sparked over her body, and even as she tried to focus the attack, it was already surging out of a vaguely outstretched hand at the Brute. She managed to send its kidding backward a few feet away from the gurgling Hinojosmith, his head lolling around.

The chatter over her communication piece mentioned over and over the Conduit, Shepard, and her squad, but all she could see was the Brute coming barreling towards her, and the sputter of a cool-down leaving her hapless.

Iras woke with a shout, flinging herself up to a sitting in her bed. She gulped the cold air down her burning throat, and she idly wondered how loud she’d been screaming. She brought a shaking hand to smooth her hair from her face. Sweat trickled down her spine, like little spiders marching their ugly legs against every nerve ending. Her eyes, unfocused and feverish, glanced around the darkness of her quarters. The clock across from her bed glared in the dimness: 2:03 a.m.

“Fuck,” she rasped.

She scrubbed her eyes with her fingers, trying to erase the images flashing before them. Even now, six months later, she triggered. She threw her sheets off her bed, placed her head between her knees, and forced herself to breathe as deep as possible.

The idea of seeing armor again, of hearing biotic charges, rifle fire, and smelling the sweat of anguished, pushed bodies made her sluggish mind reel. Was she ready for this? Unlike the new recruits, the N2’s and up didn’t have to participate in Hell. No, instead, they would be given advanced training. The biotic students would be given over to the specialists for the first three weeks, to work on their endurance and their cool-downs. They got to turn in at a normal time, got to eat at a regular schedule, and for the most part, got to live like humans while the recruits had to struggle just to survive. Her stomach had no reason to be besieged by butterflies and knots.

But, that didn’t slow her pulse thrumming behind her eyes.

Iras stood, when she felt her knees would support her, and padded her way over to her small living room. She picked up the data pad, and with a quick swipe, the television turned on. Though there were few stations still up and running, even during the restorations going on, she found the static on the downed channels soothing. The flickering grey and white, the hissing noise that was unlike anything else, both on battlefield and off, provided her system something else to focus on.

Sleep no longer an option, she propped her feet on the tiny table in front of her, and relaxed as best she could. Soon, the sun would rise, and her day would start, and the darkness, and screams, of this room would be gone.

Hinojosmith’s voice, though, still screamed over her ear, cascaded over her brain, with her name—over and over again. No, there would be no more sleep tonight.

 

 

 

 


	3. Biotic Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James begins ICT, and though he can't help the bundle of nerves building when he's woken up at 4 a.m. that morning, he can't wait to begin the first day of training. Iras, meanwhile, has a heart to heart with everyone's second favorite Admiral after a tough time in her own training session. The day wraps up with the nearly all the recruits present meeting up in the mess hall, and bonding over the days events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The training grounds are laid out somewhat similar to Final Fantasy 8's Balam Garden, especially with the bootcamp area being the forested area that the students go to train in. The different classes have different training areas once promoted to N2, but once every two months come together for a regular PT session that lasts well through the week. The bootcamp course is held down at the very bottom of the facility, and winds down into the jungle just off of Rio de Janeiro . James has to run the full course on the first day, which reaches down to the very bottom.
> 
> A more descriptive scene with the course is in the next chapter. It snakes its way into a long, winding, ten mile course.

 

 

**Chapter Three:**

**Biotic Blue**

 

 

“So, what was it like serving under Command Shepard?”

James didn’t stop brushing his teeth. All morning he’d been fielding these questions, and it was honestly too early for him to even entertain answering another one. The lights came on at four o’clock sharp, blinding the recruits and making more than a few of them roll off their beds. James had snapped awake, his hand rushing to under his mattress, and his fingers gripped the handle of his knife before his brain caught up to what was happening. When the firm voice of Hackett came over the intercom, he relaxed his taught muscles.

“Rise and shine, boys and girls. Inspection in ten!”

Ten minutes, to James, seemed to drag by. Maybe it was how tight Shepard ran her ship, like she was a fucking drill sergeant and it was basic all over again, but he had his bed made, his ‘uniform’ on and straight, shoes tied, and area cleared, all within five minutes. He had time enough to watch his fellow recruits.

The kid that had a full blown attack in the shuttle before landing didn’t need the full time, like James. He finished his bed, tucked his shirt into his belt, and stood with his hands behind his back, ready for inspection, at six minutes. His eyes glinted, a sharpness to them that hadn’t been present the day before, though there was a nervous pulse in his clenched jaw. James later learned the kids name was Second Lieutenant Daisuke Tanaka, or Tanaka Daisuke, James could never remember if surnames went first or not with Japanese names. He served in the final battle on earth, but not in London. He’d been in the middle of the shit storm of Quebec, and had the mental scars to prove it.

Another member of his unit finished ahead of schedule as well. She was a small thing, with buzzed hair, small eyes, but a very strong chin. Her name was Anne Liebtz. She set up her locker last, and stood with a tenseness that didn’t bode well.

James licked his lips and glanced at the clock.

Only one person didn’t have their shit together by the time the door slid open, and Major O’Brien walked through the door. Gone was her smile from the day before, and in its place a neutral scowl, her arms behind her back, and her stride long and purposeful. She came to stand before them, glanced around, and spotted the one recruit that had abandoned his bed to stand at attention. Her thin lips turned down even more.

“No, no, by all means, finish for inspection. After all, we don’t want a bunch of _slobs_ for N7’s, do we?”

The man turned a mortified red, his eyes cast down to the ground. When he didn’t move to tuck in the final corner, she cleared her throat, loudly.

“I said, _finish_ for inspection.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am!”

James resisted the urge to wince in sympathy. Shepard warned him that inspection would be a proving ground the first few days. They gave you ample time in order to see who was slow. Often, those that took the longest to get ready for inspection, were the longest to get ready in the battlefield. Those that didn’t master inspection in the first few days usually failed out within a week.

The recruit fumbled his way to finished, and the Major arched an eyebrow at him. With the final hurdle crossed, she toured the room, looking over their areas, and themselves, before she came back to the front. Everyone passed inspection, though that was little surprise to him. They were, after all, still marines.

She released her hands from behind her back, only to cross them under her chest.

“I’m not going to lie to you, this is _not_ going to be fun. While we’re not trying to kill you, we will push you to your mental and physical limit. If you cannot cross that line, if you cannot overcome, you are not fit to be an N7. This program has broken more than it has made. Look to your right,” they obeyed, making eye contact with the person standing next to them, “now, look to your left,” again, they obeyed. “The person on either side of you will most likely not be there at the end of Hell. The drop out, and failure, rate is 95%. That means that three of you will make it on to the next level. Now, I am not above being proven wrong,” a small smile spread over her features, and that same slight warmth that was visible yesterday beamed out. “You, recruits, have survived the Reaper war. You sent them packing. You retook Earth. All of you, even if you fail, even if you cannot cut it here, are worthy of your spot in this place. You are the best, the brightest, and the ray of hope in the dark night that was the Invasion. Hold your heads up high, even as we beat you down, even as we scream, even as we drop you off into some shit hole of a world, and have the knowledge that you are _Marines_!”

James and the recruits all let out the battle cry, a loud shout that boomed through the barracks. Pride swelled within their breasts, and the nerves that had been building, soothed themselves away.

Scars’ old adage of, ‘nothing like a military pep talk,’ played in James’ ears as the Major now paced the room, locking eyes with each of them.

Just as soon as the warmth flooded from her, it was sealed up, and O’Brien span on her heel, squared her shoulders, and shouted:

“Move out! Get to the Southern Training field in ten minutes.”

The Southern Training field loomed a grand three miles away. If they hadn’t just gone through the War, they supposed they’d be in further trouble, but they managed to get there, most of them, only three minutes late.

James’ eye caught that of the woman in the training ring the day before. She stood, with her arms crossed and leaning on the fence of the slight platform they were on, in front of the recruits, along with some of the other N5’s, and two intimidating looking officers in full training gear. The recruits fell in line, but James couldn’t help glancing at Iras more than he should. Her face was white, and there were bags under her eyes. He stopped his curiosity from wondering just what caused her sleeplessness.

“Listen up!” One of the training officers, a man in size rivaling even James, stepped forward. They all tensed up, saluted, and fell in line. “This is Hell. There will be no bathroom breaks. There will be no water breaks. There will be no food breaks, until we say so. There will be no complaining, or you will be docked. There will be no _tardiness_ from here on, or you will be docked. You will remain professional, you will remain in control, and most of all you will remain marines. Should your behavior, even outside the training grounds, prove to be unprofessional, and outside the Alliance code of conduct, you will be docked. Should you be caught fraternizing with anyone within your current class unit, you will be docked. Should you be seen breaking curfew, you will be docked. Do I make myself clear?”

The recruits all shouted, “yes, sir!” James could feel the nerves bleeding from Tanaka next to him.

“Now, the things you will not be docked for are, injury and illness. Should you be injured, say so immediately, and a medic will attend you. You will be given leave for however long you are injured, and you will return to the program. However, you are responsible for catching up, you are held to the same time table as the rest of your unit. This includes conditioning, biotic endurance for biotics, cool downs for biotics, speed of hacking and combat drone summoning for engineers, and physical capabilities for soldiers. Second thing you will not be docked for, is instances of PTSD. Should you trigger in the midst of an exercise, your squad mate is to notify us immediately, and the unit will draw back our training to another area until you and the medic state that you are well enough to continue. Do not try to work through an attack, which is how you get you and your unit killed, do you understand?”

 Another round of ‘yes, sir!’ followed, and the training officer nodded. He glanced to where the Major was now making her way to the training field.

The major made her way onto the small platform the Officers stood on. She nodded to them all.

“I hope you had a good night’s rest, kids. Let’s get started.”

 

* * *

 

 

 Iras stood in the middle of the biotic training ground. Her supervisor and trainer, an Asari commando who’d served during the Fall of Thessia, circled her, watching the human as she powered up. Iras charged her biotics, the blue light flickering around her body, and her eyes starting to glow.

“Good, now hold that charge for five minutes. I don’t want to see you let it flicker, fail, or falter during those five minutes.”

“Riding me this hard already, Athentia? I’m flattered, but you should at least pay me first,” Iras said. She held her hands in front of her, closed her eyes, and focused.

Athentia smirked, powered up her omni-tool, and began tracking the power fluctuations of Iras’ charge. She was one of the taller asari that Iras had ever met, standing at an impressive 5’7”, and unlike the asari that Iras served with during the Reaper War, she was naturally a purple tinted blue. Her colony markings around her face and up her tentacles were a soft pastel fuchsia, and played well against her dark blue eyes. If Iras swung that way, she would have gone after Athentia a long time ago.

 The two knew each other from before the war. When Iras served on Spec Ops Team Delta, they had run through the Terminus Systems, and bumped into one another on Ilium. She hunted the same enemy they did, a batarian slave trade ring leader. The commando worked with the team for a short period, helped them take down a smuggling operation that brought undocumented slaves into port. During their time together, Athentia became one of the best biotic coaches Iras ever encountered, and under her recommendation, Hackett had extended the offer of helping with the N7 program. It wasn’t often that aliens were given a chance to work so intimately with the Alliance Navy, much less their secret covert operations, but with all that transpired, there was little room for secrets.

Iras felt her body start to struggle to maintain its grasp on the energy around her towards the four minute mark. Usually, a charge felt good to a biotic. There’s nothing like pulling in the dark energy from around you, sucking it so closer to your skin it’s almost a part of you, and then charging an uncharged force, and using it to your whim. Iras always wondered how nonbiotics got the same thrill, or if they ever did. It was like being tipsy, but every nerve ending was drunk, buzzing, and electrified. Now, however, it burned at her skin, prickling like a thousand little needles wanting release. Any biotic who said that controlling dark energy for long periods of time were either Asari Justicars, or were lying.

“Suck it in, Bennet, you’re getting sloppy,” Athentia warned.

Iras bit her lower lip, her stomach starting to tighten, her whole body on edge. Just when she thought she had it, just as the clock in her brain started counting down from twenty seconds, her hold slipped, and a small shockwave burst out from her in a meter radius.

Athentia, to avoid being knocked over, powered up her own biotics, and watched the human hold onto her knees. Iras panted, hard, trying to control her breathing while her body shook.

“I said five minutes, Bennet.”

“I know… I know… I just,” Iras glared at the ground, her eyes narrowing.

“This is why you can’t hold an Annihilation Field for longer than three minutes. You’re holding on too tightly. If you try to grasp at it, like a hanar trying to hold a gun, then it’s going to rebound on you,” Athentia drawled.

“I get it, I get it.”

“No, you don’t, and stop saying that you do. If you did, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

Iras stood, running the back of her wrist along her hairline.

“I can do Dark Channel and Throw just fine, and you know my Warp is one of the best in the program.”

“Yeah, I do, but brute force doesn’t make up for your sloppy barriers and field,” Athentia retaliated. She put her hands on her hips, and motioned her over to the bench on the far side of the field. “Take a breather, get your energy stores back up, and we’ll retry in twenty.”

Iras watched Athentia motion one of the other Fury candidates over, and left her no choice but to move off the field. She all but stomped her way to the bench, her insides taught and hard. Anger blistered at her skin, but it wasn’t at Athentia, no, it was at her own incompetence. Others in the program had no problem with Annihilation Field, they could hold it nearly twice as long as she could, but as her time in Delta had shown her she had a lot to learn as a biotic. Getting hit face first by an asari slam taught her that she wasn’t shit, and that humans had a long way to go before their skills were anything to write home about.

She plopped down on the bench, and fished under it. She grasped the cold outside of a bottle of electrolyte infused juice. The Alliance made sure that the biotic candidates always had juice and energy bars on hand. Their metabolisms worked at a faster rate thanks to their implants, so they became fatigued far faster than a normal soldier. Added to that, that half the time if a biotic didn’t have the proper hold over the energy around them, they resorted to using their bodies own energy, either through fat reserves or anything else, biotics needed to be kept energized at all times.

Just as she was closing her eyes, attempting to calm down, a shadow fell over her. In the noonday sun, in Brazil, anything that brought shade was a welcome relief, but Iras still tensed. She opened her eyes, and stared up at Admiral Hackett.

Iras started, jumped up, and saluted as quickly as she could, nearly falling over in the process. Her juice tipped over, and began to drain into the bright green grass underfoot.

“At ease, First Lieutenant,” Hackett said.

Iras tucked her arms behind her, and tried to look as relaxed as possible. The admiral’s cool eyes took her in, and then swept over to where Athentia and the other recruits were running drills.

“I see our newest instructor has wasted little time. I’m glad you recommended her. Her service record is impressive.”

“She has some of the best biotics I’ve seen outside of a Justicar, sir.”

Hackett nodded.

“She is good. Though, that’s not why I’m here, Lieutenant.”

Iras bit back her remark. Hackett never came, or hailed her, to just talk pleasantries. He hadn’t before the war, not during it, and certainly not after it. Whenever he wanted something discussed, he discussed it then and there. She supposed it was what made him a great Admiral.

“And why’s that, sir?” she asked, though dreading his response.

“Have you given further consideration to what we’ve discussed, Lieutenant?”

Iras swallowed, her fingers going numb from how hard she was wringing them. The world was suddenly full of sounds, of people, of birds and waterfalls and life. The grass, though, was the most interesting thing to her on the face of the planet, and she tried to content herself with studying its complexities.

When the silence that stretched became too long for politeness, she firmed her lips together.

“I… Sir, I don’t think I deserve the rank.”

“It’s not if you think you deserve the rank, but if the Admiralty Board thinks you do, and we, I, think you should be a lieutenant commander.”

Iras scoffed despite herself. She wrinkled her nose, ran her hand through her bangs, and leveled him with a stare she was certain didn’t befit their differing ranks. Hackett’s authority was absolute, but Iras couldn’t allow him to praise her… not after…

“I don’t think I should be promoted just for surviving that attack, sir. It’s not right. Hinojosmith died, Claus is still in the damn hospital, and Smith and Alvarez are still MIA. I shouldn’t be put up the ladder just because I lived.”

Hackett’s features softened, his scar smoothing from his formerly clenched jaw. He sighed.

“I know. I know that’s how you feel, and I get it, I of all people do. We all lost people in this fight. But,” he turned back to her, after having watched the new round of drilling by Athentia. “You aren’t the sole survivor of your squad’s mission. You aren’t responsible for the deaths of your comrades, not by a long shot, and you owe it to yourself to stop acting like they are.”

Iras wanted to say _but you weren’t there_ , but didn’t. No matter how much Hackett reassured her, no matter who tried or what rank they were, she still couldn’t get over the way that Hinojosmith had screamed at her over the communicator. She raked her lower lip with her teeth in thought.

“I… wish it were that easy, sir.”

Hackett crossed his arms, sat back on his hip, and looked her over. He stood quiet for a long time, as if the mere weight of his stare and of his presence would make her accept the promotion. The truth was, he could force the promotion through. She didn’t truly have a choice. Promotions were handled at the top level, through noticing someone of merit, and if Hackett wanted to, he could push the position onto her and be done with it. But, with the way his blue eyes softened, and how he finally eased off with a low exhale, she knew that he didn’t want to do that.

“Well, Lieutenant Bennet, should you reconsider, the offer is still on the table. You handled yourself and your squad out in that hell admirably, and the Alliance could use more soldiers like you.”

 _No, they couldn’t_ , she thought. She saluted Hackett as he turned on his heel, and started his way towards the rest of the biotics division. She watched him walk away, shoving her hands into her pockets, and didn’t miss the way Athentia scrutinized her. She toyed with the idea of retiring for the day, but with the new agitation to her brain she wanted the peace that only body numbing, soul shredding training could bring.

 

* * *

 

 

James grunted. He heaved the heavy rear of one of the largest guys in the unit over the concrete wall. The guys arms had failed him in the final scale, and with the sun long down, and the only source of light on the whole damn training course the flood lights above them, James just wanted to get done. They couldn’t stop until everyone had completed the course, and that meant that tons-of-fun here needed to get his ass over the wall, through the tires, and fire off a clip of a practice rifle before the clock ran down—or they’d have to run the thing again. James gulped in the humid air, his clothing soaked through from a storm that’d passed over at three that afternoon. He was slicked with sweat, mud, and someone’s blood.

He gripped the wall and hefted himself over it, catching the eye of Tanaka as he pushed the man slowing them down. James made short work of the tires. He’d done this crap in the Normandy shuttle bay since day one, and was only impeded by the sucking mud underneath his feet.

If he had to run the course again today, even though it was already nine thirty at night, he wasn’t sure his arms could hold out. His shoulders burned, his grip was starting to become slick with sweat, and his forearms felt like they were made of gelatin. James listened to the final shot of the recruits rifle fire, and hit, the practice dummy. All shots right in the middle of the main chest target, deadly fire, just as the clock hit zero.

“Good job, boys and girls. Now, for the wind down. Drop and give me a hundred!”

James hitched his breath, but rolled his shoulders, bounced on his toes, then did as he was told.

 

* * *

 

 

“You guys look like shit. I take it Berkley is already getting up your asses?”

James paused his chewing, his mouth full of cold meat and bread. He glanced over his shoulder to see some of the higher ranked recruits walking over, their day officially over as well. James caught sight of the woman from the ring from the day before. She had her hair down, and though it was crimped from the ponytail, her hair was surprisingly thick. The man that had spoken, one of those that lost the bet against Bennet the other day, patted Vega on the back, his grin beaming.

James shifted over, allowing room on the bench next to him and Tanaka. Tanaka, he learned today, was stronger and faster than his slight build pegged him for. He had amazing stamina when it came to sprinting, and James became confident throughout the day that the guy would go far in the program. He, of course, looked like death warmed over—just like the rest of the unit. James looked at the pristine state of the newcomers in slight envy.

 _Bet they didn’t even break a sweat, today_ , James thought.

Iras sat across from James, taking him a bit by surprise.

“What, are you so tired you can’t find your manners?” she asked.

A spark went down James back, and he sat upright. Swallowing the food in his mouth, and only inwardly wincing when it almost caught in his windpipe, he chuckled.

“Nah, had a mouthful of food. Your buddy almost made me choke by hitting my back.”

“Pft, if you can choke that easy, we don’t need you in the program, War Hero.”

James watched the way Iras’ eyes danced in silent challenge. He turned more towards her in his seat, and his mind lazily rolled over possible nicknames for the woman in front of him.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right! You served under Commander Shepard in the last leg of the War, right? How was that?”

“Toby, don’t be a dick,” Iras sipped on the clearly alcoholic drink she’d snatched from the asari next to her. She made a face, and passed it back. “That’s super sweet. What does it have in it?”

“Pomegranate and some weird fruit that a turian gave me.”

Iras slowly licked her lips, and James watched the panic rise in her eyes.

“Turian? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“So, yeah, your name’s Vega, right? Sorry, I’m absolutely _terrible_ with names. What was it like serving under Shepard? Is she as hot as the recruitment vids made her look? ‘Cause DAMN she had a set,” James pretended not to see the guy next to him make an obscene cupping motion on his chest. Instead, he half listened to the asari and Iras, and half listen to the din about him. Toby had the thickest London accent James had ever had the displeasure of hearing, and he had to resist the urge to sock the guy in the jaw when he made an eyebrow wiggle towards Tanaka.

“Relax, I don’t think it’s dextro. It’s just… a really weird color, actually,” the asari feigned.

Iras’ shoulders rose to her ears, and if she were a cat, James imagined her blond fur spiking up along her back.

“If you just fucking poisoned me-”

“Yo, dude, you got more food in your mouth or what?”

James turned to the guy next to him, Toby, who was waiting on the edge of his seat. He had hair darker than Traynor’s, and eyes that were impossibly green. He was dark, darker than James, but still managed to have freckles bridge his nose. He wanted dirt on Shepard that much was obvious. James racked his brain for things he could say that weren’t classified. 

“She’s a hardass, that’s for sure. Runs her ship tight. She let us use the bar, though, and hold poker matches, so that was awesome,” James said.

“Wait, the Normandy has a fucking _bar_?”

“Athentia, I swear, I just got you this gig. Just tell me if you’re a goddam assassin!”

“I promise, it’s not dextro. God, you’re so easy to rile up sometimes, Bennet.”

“You just insinuated I ate something only turians and quarians can eat, you bitch! I will fucking throw you across this room.”

“What, with your weak barriers? Good luck, _honey_. Or, do you want to repeat our smack down on Ilium?” James watched the way Iras’ face contorted into a confrontational sneer, her shoulders loosening.

“Oh, you wanna play dirty. Don’t make me talk about your time in Azure.”

The asari gasped, held her hands to her face, but she couldn’t keep a straight face and fell to the side laughing. Both women patted each other’s shoulders, and James coveted to know the story behind them, instantly.

“So, like, does it have vodka and all that shit?”

“Please, a top of the line ship like the Normandy probably has the best triple distilled turian brandy in the galaxy! Hell, it’d probably have Oban Scotch from fucking 2002.”

James sneered to see Tanaka in the lively conversation. He leaned forward, holding out his fork towards Toby.

“The Normandy has the best eezo core the galaxy has seen, and some of the most advance tech this side of a reaper. Better believe it’d have the good shit.”

“Yeah, and Shepard ain’t cheap. She knows what she likes,” James offered. He didn’t see the harm in retelling a story of their crew meeting up in Purgatory, just before the big party on the Silversun Coast. Shepard insisted on buying a round for the crew, and any Alliance members present that day, and he watched as she demanded the good shit. She reckoned, that if they were all going to die within the next few days, the least she could do was drain her account of a couple hundred credits. He didn’t relate how Shepard and Scars had been unable to keep their hands off each other when the evening was winding down to a close, nor how they had left each other, with the turian’s hand firmly in Shepard’s back pocket.

“My kind of commander,” Iras offered, leaning forwards. Her asari friend was busy scrubbing a stain that looked suspiciously like the color of her drink out of her pristine white jacket, with an off put, but still pleased, look on her face.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” James said.

“So, is what they say about London true?” Toby whispered. His eyes were wide, glimmered in the harsh mess hall light. Iras shot him a glare.

“What, that it was a pile of rubble, crawling with reaper forces, and that you couldn’t see a foot in front of your face without being met with the sight of fucking husks, banshee’s, or whatever, ripping people apart?” James spoke before he could stop himself. Throughout the day, the people in his unit, no matter how much liked some of them, had pestered him about London. It’s all anyone that met him now wanted to know. What was Shepard heading into the Conduit like? Did she look majestic? Was it true that he had to drag the commander’s lover off the field? Did she really give a massive, moving speech before they began? Did she really hold off waves of reaper forces in order to target, and fire, missiles at a reaper that was baring down on her squad? He didn’t want to relive that moment. He didn’t want to think about it.

He realized his tone was harsh, and more than a bit resentful, when the silence around the table rang in his ears. He scrunched his brows together, tried to ignore it, but no one was saying anything. The feel of the weight of their stares on his back, of how unappetizing his food now looked to him, all made him clench his jaw.

“Toby! Your sniper shots today were weak as fuck. It’s only been six fucking months. What the hell?” Iras suddenly erupted. She slammed her drink down in front of her. It was clear, probably straight liquor, and when the table once more became a hive of chatter, all centered around the day’s events, and how training had gone for everyone present, he chanced a look up at her.

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“S’alright?”

 He ran a thumb over his lower lip, a nervous habit he’d noticed he picked up from Cortez.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t make it a habit,” Iras threatened as she leaned forward.

“What, you don’t want to know?” he asked, his voice lowered.

She shrugged, shot a look at Toby, and laced her fingers in front of her.

“You looked like you didn’t want to talk about it. So, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s that simple. Toby’s just a dick,” Iras offered.

James took another bite of his sandwich, aware of just how late it had become. He had to turn in by midnight if he wanted to get four hours of sleep, before inspection, and the Major, woke him up to the reality of ICT all over again. But, for now, he relished in the sound of the people arguing, laughing, and bonding around him. For the first time in months, where James sat, felt like home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Of Cabbages and Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks into Hell, and James is finally starting to get into the hang of life in the ICT. Sure, there's still the four hours of sleep a night, and only one meal a day, to contend with, but at least he doesn't puke after every run through the course. Meanwhile, there's a vaguely threatening rumor going around about Iras, and a stint in Solitary that the adept doesn't seem keen on explaining. Why is it hidden by Alliance Blue Tape?

 

**Chapter Four:**

**Of Cabbages and Kings**

Two weeks into Hell and already James’ unit had lost three recruits, dwindling their number to a meager seven. Five more had come into the program after the first day, shuttled in late by a delay in California. Now, the run to the Southern training ground every morning was easier, and they almost reached it before the clock reached zero. So far, only Tanaka managed to get to the grounds on time. The little bastard became, if possible, faster as Hell went on, and James found respect budding for his ability, despite his age-or maybe because of it.

It pained him to learn Scars had been right. Though he remained larger than any of the others in the unit by far, in muscle that is, not like William who still managed to jiggle as he ran despite the amount of PT they were putting in, Vega had lost some muscle. His back was just a bit smaller, and his shirts were fitting just a bit looser.

 _I’ll work on that when this month is over_ , James thought, with a slight sneer.

Today, the training fields glistened with a morning dew that almost made them pretty. When Berkley shouted at them to run down to the bottom of the course, his blond hair as bright as the damn sun would be in a couple of hours, he was more than ready. The training area for new recruits snaked its way down from the first level. Whoever designed Hell had a sense of humor. They created seven layers, and each one had a different theme. The Southern Grounds, the launching pad as they’d come to call it, was flat, and where they did most of their ground work, such as mountain climbers, pushups, sit ups, and the like. The side of the Southern Grounds had a large pathway that fit three people abreast, and made its way down passed all the other levels.

The bottom level, or The Pit, was where the candidates got down and dirty. Mud crawls, layered with barbed wire across the top, were the first thing they met with, and on the other side they were given an option on how to cross a massive pit of filthy, vile smelling gunk. Either they could use the monkey bars just above them, or they could swing, from rope to hanging rope, to the other side. James had tried both, and couldn’t decide which one was more tiring. Once done with that, they had to drop down and wade their way to the next obstacle. A large, metal and concrete wall loomed over them, and here it was decided that five members were to be dead weight, and their teammates had to haul them up the side. James preferred to be one of the ones carrying someone—the last time someone hefted him over the side, he’d been dropped like a hot potato. His back still smarted from falling from that high up. Finally, to wrap up The Pit, was ladder to the next level. James still wasn’t sure it could be called a ladder. Its rungs were uneven, narrow and then steep, and wandered up the side of the wall. If everyone didn’t manage to get their asses up the ladder within five minutes, they had to run the whole thing again. So far this week, they’d only had to do a rerun of The Pit twice.

The second layer, which somewhat shielded The Pit from the world above by acting as an ominous awning, was where their speed was truly tested. Here, they had to suit up into their armors as fast as possible, within a limit. James’ armor, at first, was too small, but as he’d lost muscle mass he found it fitting to where it didn’t feel like he was a sausage inside its casing. From there, they were to sprint around the track, and not stop, for five minutes. The armors were heavy, and not specced to the career trees that the recruits had chosen. The first few days, the biotic students had all but flagged. One woman, Colette, had passed out the first day. If a member of the squad did not sprint for five minutes, then they were docked, and the whole unit had to do it again, after a five minute break. Next, they were made to jump through holes, slide under obstacles, all while still in armor, until they reached their ‘weapon’. Once they retrieved it, they were to hit the dummies across the field in one of the three major target zones. If you missed, you had to rerun the course. Finally, they again had to climb a ladder to the next level.

Each layer was specialized, and each had its own goal. James excelled in the first three, where his heavy training as a soldier paid off. However, when it came to the fourth layer, where he had to hack into an ‘enemy base’s rear door’ in thirty seconds, he lagged behind. He never had been good at technology.

The fifth layer was more geared towards long distance stamina, and was the one with tires, more rope swings, and even had the option for the biotic students to biotic charge across upside down rope bridges. James admitted, in one of his weaker moments, that he wished he could save his hands the blisters and manage to just jump over the damn chasm. The fifth layer spanned the length of the whole facility, and ran through the forest farther than any other layer. It was here that William had the most difficulty, and was often what held them back. James heard Berkley whispering to the other training officer that if William was docked again, he’d be in danger of failing out.

So, as James watched William gasp for air, again, while wadding through the mud in The Pit, he wondered if he’d be able to keep up today, or if he’d be docked.

“Hey, Bob,” he patted William on the shoulder. The round man turned, his eyes bleary with fatigue. James watched the way the man breathed, huffing and puffing, and frowned. “You’re breathing too hard. Control your intake, or you’re gonna to tire yourself out before we even get up top.”

William blinked at him, as if he hadn’t expected anyone in the unit to attempt helping him this early. His ears flushed pink, but he nodded and took three breaths in, then two out, the same amount they’d been taught in basic. James stayed back with William, watching the coming edge of the mud pond with anticipation.

Berkley nudged the other officer next to him, and the two whispered beyond James’ and William’s hearing.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, what do you think of the new guys?”

Iras stopped for a moment as she wrapped her knuckles and hands. She shrugged her shoulders, then continued her work.

“They’re good people. I think some of them have a real shot,” she commented. Athentia screwed up her features, disgusted she hadn’t caught on to her meaning. The asari grumbled a quick ‘humans’ under her breath. She plopped down next to Iras on the bench, and she was sure if the asari had eyebrows they would be furrowed to try to get her to understand her better.

The locker room for the D-Wing biotics gym was smaller than the others. Few students in the N7 program were biotics, and even fewer survived Hell. Biotics weren’t known for their overwhelming physicality, unless you were Shepard, that is, so they often lagged behind during the red zone introduction period. Because of the limited numbers that passed the first test, and the size of their locker room, the lockers were massive, and the showers were full sized, single stall, glassed in units. Iras and Athentia were seated in the main row of lockers, on one of the two rows of benches.

“Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.”

Iras slapped the knuckles of her hands against her knees and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, for fuck sake’s, Athentia, this isn’t a dating program. I wasn’t looking at any of them that way!” she complained.

The asari made a low noise, like she didn’t believe Iras, and resumed her own preparations. Today, she wouldn’t be with her old friend in the main biotic level. The biotics were separated from the rest during their training sessions. Theirs was at the height of D-Wing, with three levels creating their work space. The first, where she’d met Hackett earlier, was an artificially created grounds area, a terrace of sorts that stretched off the building. It had barriers so that no students would plummet to their death should they overcharge, or fail spectacularly, at controlling a biotic explosion, but it was still harrowing to glance over the side and see nothing but ground a good eighty feet below them. Athentia was taking the Vanguard students with her to that area, where they’d be mastering their biotic charges, not to get into the enemies faces, but to get out of the way. Dark Energy offered a great offensive ability, but often left the user with vulnerable shields. Cool downs were favored over heavy weapons and armor by most, and this left them vulnerable.

 Athentia could only help Iras so much, since she herself was a Vanguard. No, today Iras and the other Adepts trained with the best Adept coach in the facility on their maneuvering with dark energy assistance.

“Right. I saw how you talked to that… what was his name again?”

“War Hero? His name’s Vega.”

“See, you even remember his name!”

“He served under Shepard. I remember nearly her whole crew. Most within the Alliance do. She’s a legend.”

“Right, that’s the _only_ reason you remember,” Athentia chuckled as Iras pushed her. The asari stood and began to stretch out her legs. “You were quick to jump to his rescue last night. You’re not normally charitable.”

Iras rolled her eyes again. She finished her wrapping, before beginning on her ankles. If they were going to do near the same amount of acrobatics training as last time, she needed to keep her ankles stable.

“Yeah, because, Toby had talked the dude into a corner. Honestly, no one likes talking about the War. At least, not without liquor. Lots of it.”

Iras stood when finished. She watched another N5 file in, smiled, and waved as she and the asari made their way out. Gone were the normal combat fatigues that she wore during most other training activities. Instead, she was decked in near head to toe stretchy, moveable gear.

“Spare me, he is so your type. He even has the tiny little thing male humans do. What is it called, with their hair all short on the sides but spikey in the middle?”

“A fauxhawk,” Iras offered. They made their way down the hallway. A stripe ran down the middle of the floor, officially Alliance Blue, but among the unit was referred to as biotic blue. The walls were lined with photos of graduated N7’s, all looking proudly out of their frames, all with their shoulders squared and their eyes full of hope. Iras hesitated at Shepard’s... No one knows when Shepard was exposed to eezo, especially since there was no major starship crash where the woman grew up, but boy, was her unit glad she had. She was the most famous of their kind, a stellar example as to what they could do.

A sense of obligation to be just as good filled Iras’ chest.

“Yeah, that! He’s the epitome of the guys you went for back on Ilium.”

Iras snapped out of her moment of hero worship. She continued down the hall with the asari. There was no denying _that_. Back on Ilium, when they had their limited off time, Spec Ops Team Delta was known as the party squad. She didn’t want to count how many guys she woke up with the next day, wasn’t sure she could, to be honest. But, there was one big exception that always came with the guys she chose while on leave.

“Yeah, but, my ‘type’ doesn’t serve in the Alliance. I don’t do Alliance Blue. Plus, are you saying Fredrick wasn’t my type?”

“I always thought it weird that you married him.”

“Yeah, well,” Iras chewed on the side of her thumb. She let the subject drop into tenseness between the two. Like the war, she didn’t talk about her ex-husband while sober. Iras and Athentia came to the main fork of the upper building. One way led off to where Athentia was needed to teach her students, and the other lead upstairs to where Iras would spend the next five hours flipping, tucking, rolling, and trying to avoid getting hit by Warps by from her teacher.

Athentia hesitate next to her. She glanced down the hall, then back to her friend, her hands clenching by her side.

“He didn’t deserve you. You didn’t deserve that, Bennet, and you know that, right?” Her lowered voice didn’t help the sudden emptiness of Iras’ stomach. Iras rubbed the back of her neck with a wrapped hand.

“Yeah, sure. You’re going to be late.”

Athentia firmed her lips into a white line, as if she wanted to keep talking. But, the clock on the wall next to them reminded her just how late she was, and she had no choice but to leave. Turning slowly, she nodded at the adept before rushing off to her duties.

Iras felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. Even though four years passed since her last encounter with her ex-husband, since their final confrontation, it still made it felt like she was still in that apartment, staring out at Ilium, with that horrible excuse for jazz playing in the background. She pinched her arm, hard enough to twist the fabric of her workout gear, as she scaled the stairs in front of her.

At least Athentia eased off the topic of James Vega, though. Iras could be thankful for that.

 

* * *

 

 

James laid, splayed out on the grass, on the final platform of the Southern Grounds. For once, the sun was just setting, and the sky still had a hint of light to it. Summer burned at James’ arms, and he was sure that if he weren’t already so dark he’d have a sunburn. William was gasping for air next to him, finally released from the tenuous control he’d exerted in controlling his breathing the rest of the way. He hadn’t fallen behind, he’d managed to keep up, and best of all James hadn’t needed to shove his fat ass over one of the walls.

“I almost forgot what a sunset looked like,” Tanaka wheezed.

“Yeah, tell me about it. Last couple of weeks my eyes have been too full of sweat and mud to look up.” James didn’t want to say that he’d also had to watch William’s back to make sure they got out of there by midnight.

Tanaka laughed, and wrapped his arms around his knees.

“Can’t believe it’s almost over.”

“We’re only halfway through, that’s not almost over,” William wheezed.

“Aren’t you a barrel of sunshine,” Tanaka commented. He ran his fingers under his jawline, scowling when he felt the bumps and lumps of razor burn. “What I wouldn’t give for enough time to exfoliate. I’m starting to look like a pubescent plebe.”

James laughed, and thought of teasing the man for admitting to exfoliating, but then he remembered what Cortez once said. If a man cared enough to take care of his skin that much, imagine how much he takes care of his lady. He wondered how turians took care of their carapaces, or if they even needed to. If Garrus’ time suiting up was any indication, then Shepard must be very well cared for.

A breeze ghosted over the unit, and they all let out a hefty, grateful sigh.

“Feels so good,” James murmured.

“So,” Tanaka leaned over to where he could see James around the splayed out teammate next to him. “Do you think we’ll see the others tonight?”

James had to think a minute about what he was talking about. Since their first night of training, the higher ranking recruits would often come and sit with them after they were let out. But, over the last couple of days the visits were dwindling. James chalked it up to the fascination with novelty being over, but Tanaka’s earnest look made him hesitate throwing that out there.

“I have no idea. Why? You sweet on one of ‘em?”

Tanaka cleared his throat, and tried to turn in time to hide a sudden glow to his cheeks. William popped up at that, his watery eyes sparkling at the prospect of gossip.

“Oh! Who, who?” William asked.

Tanaka pushed his hands through his jet black hair, and refused to look over at them.

“Was it the red head? Didn’t know you liked gingers, Speed.” The nickname for Tanaka came easily enough to Vega. The kid ran the quickest time out of all of them, and his stamina for the long runs put any of them to shame. He was a runner, plain and simple, and so the name came to him when watching his back during one of the sprint exercises. Tanaka liked it enough to not argue.

Tanaka shook his head.

“No, it’s not like that,” he lied.

“God, this is like high school all over again! I’m out, you bunch of idiots,” Anne said, shaking her head. She stood, though on shaky legs, and started to make her way towards the main building. They’d been released after their near perfect run through of the course, but James just wanted to relax in the grass for a moment longer. It reminded him of better days at his _tito_ ’s, with some cold beer, some quiet music, and nothing but the desert sunset to bring peace to his mind.

Tanaka let silence sink in, a little humiliated his ploy had been so obvious.

“That one chick, Bennet? She’s kind of intimidating,” William offered.

“Ya think?” Tanaka breathed.

“Berkley said that she’s the one biotic in the group you really don’t want to piss off. Says she spent time in solitary at HQ a while back. Some nasty rumors about her,” William said.

James half listened to the gossip now going on at his peripheral. Man, with shit like this, it was like high school. He debated joining Anne in walking away, but decided the cold glass felt too good against his overheated body.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras loved this part of training. It’s the one thing about being a Fury she enjoyed. She landed on her hands and toes, crouched, and waited. Her instructor sent another blast out, and she pushed herself off the ground with a burst of energy at her feet. She went flying through the air, twisted, and landed ~~into~~ a backflip, with just enough time to duck when a Warp was sent hurtling towards her face.

With Smith trying to knock her off her balance, to put her down on the mat and keep her there, she had to focus only on what her body, and her amps, were doing. She had no room to think of anything else, and her talk with Athentia could become nothing more than the sweat pooling off of her body. The other students had left for the day, dismissed after their turns, but Iras wanted more. She wanted her body to be dead. She wanted to not be able to lift her arms, to not be able to even power up her biotics by the time they were done, and Smith was all too willing to accommodate her.

Iras hissed when the edge of one Throw managed to scrape her arm, the burn of the energy making the hairs on her arm singe just enough to stink. She rolled to the side, flipped away, and used a biotic charge to dash up a wall to escape a Shockwave. She landed with a soft thud, but she recognized the flutter of her thighs and calves.

“You look like you’re about done, Bennet!” Smith called from across the gym.

 _Not yet_ , she thought, as she stood. She rolled a shoulder, thumped her heels against the padded flooring, and motioned towards Smith for another round. The further out of her mind Fredrick Nagase was, the better she’d feel. She could still think, she could still stand, so it wasn’t enough.

 

* * *

 

 

James made his way out of the mess hall with plenty of time to relax in bed before going to sleep. With only one meal a day, his body had begun to adjust to the decrease. He had to watch himself, though, because if he ate too much that night, he’d vomit the next morning during their time in The Pit. He turned down the path towards the barracks, and something gave him pause. Sitting in the middle of the small garden area in front of the barracks, where the grounds keepers tried to keep the non-native flowers alive despite the daily rain fall and constant humidity, was the very adept he’d heard nonstop gossip about since getting released from training.

William hadn’t stopped spreading what he’d gleaned from Berkley earlier that week. By the time dinner steamed on everyone’s plates, nearly half the unit was intimately acquainted with the knowledge. The higher ranked recruits happened to sit with them that evening, and James was subject to listening to Berkley relay his information first hand.

When Berkley served under Hackett during the Crucible project-the reason why he’d been upped from an N3 to an N4-curosity got the better of him. He searched the Alliance database, and though he accessed Iras Bennet’s records, he wasn’t a high enough clearance to view certain aspects. She had, indeed, been in solitary for six months, but for what it wouldn’t say. Her exact work within Spec Ops Team Delta was also sealed, as was most of her current doings. But, the mere fact of her being in solitary, and the hushed agreement among most at the table who knew the woman beforehand, Berkley, and thus William, felt something fishy was up.

James didn’t care for hearsay. If he wanted to know something about someone, he preferred to ask them to their face. Too much damage was done to a reputation by loose lips and misinformation.

That said, James mulled over going to speak to her. He knew that look. Her features were soft, near vulnerable, and her eyes were looking neither at the sky nor at the building in front of it. The glint of her drink in her hand didn’t escape his notice, either.

Deciding that he’d listened to enough of the abuse of the others, he padded his way through the grass.

She started when he sat next to her, as if she hadn’t heard his approach. She turned to him, her brows furrowing in thought. The academy started powering down lights around ten at night, and given that it was eleven, and only the main buildings walkways, and the occasional street lamp, provided much to see by. Sure, the moon was out, and nearly full, and the stars were still in their full glory with the reconstruction of Rio still in moderate swing, but that didn’t help much.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he offered, sincerely.

“No, it’s my fault for not paying attention,” Iras didn’t say that he hadn’t. He respected that.

She took a long drink from her cup. He could smell the proof of the liquor from here.

“What’re you drinking?” he asked.

Iras stared at him, sidelong, her lower jaw jutting out just a bit.

“Scotch,” she said.

“For real? You didn’t strike me as someone that rode that hard.”

“I don’t. At least, not very often. I like the expensive shit, so I try not to open up my reserve too often,” she scoffed as she held it up in front of her. He was surprised to see an ice cube glinting within the glass. “Why?” She let the glass hang from her finger tips, between her crossed legs, as she cocked her head at him. “Do I look like I like girlie drinks?”

James sat back on his elbows, and took Iras Bennet in for what seemed like the first time since they met. She was taught, nothing but muscle, and today she wore the same skin tight, flexible get up the rest of the adepts had waltzed in wearing. Her neck was long, but not disproportionately so, and her nose screamed French descent. Her hands had the wear and tear of a soldier that’d been in from a very young age, and she had the same world-weary eyes most veterans had these days. He chewed on his lower lip.

“Nah, you look like you like the good stuff. Like a nice vodka soda, or something like that. Or, maybe even some tequila?” he hinted.

Iras laughed and took another sip of her drink.

“No, tequila makes me naked,” she quipped.

James pretended to frown. “Don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

He dodged her attempting to slap his shoulder, her nose wrinkling just so with a chortle. He eyed her scotch as he sat up.

“Mind if I have a try? Haven’t had Scotch in a while. Can’t remember if I like it or not.”

“Please, you’d remember if you liked it.”

“Yeah, but, you never know.”

Iras stared at him through the dark, and he wondered if it was the eezo or the biotics that made her eyes that light grey color. She smirked at her drink, then held it up as an offer.

“Careful, this is the assertive stuff. It’s the strongest one I have. Aged for 21 years, 4 of which were in cherry wood barrels.”

James nodded, attempting to look like he knew what she was talking about. He didn’t know much about fancy alcohol other than good tequila, and even then he only knew the good stuff because of his _tito_. He took her glass and gave it an experimental sniff. His nostrils burned with the powerful grip of pure liquor, and he had to resist coughing. She watched him, with intent, as he took a small, tentative sip.

Sure enough, the taste fell nothing short of assertive, even aggressive. The flavor exploded in his mouth, burned its way under his tongue, and found every crack and crevice that there was to be found. It was peppery, and oaky, and forced itself to be tasted. He swallowed, again trying not to cough, but still gave a slight splutter anyway.

Iras chuckled at him, took the glass back when offered, and stared into it.

“Yeah, that’s why I have the ice in it. That’s it watered down, imagine it at full strength.”

“You can peel paint off a car with that!” James hissed. He wished he had some water to wash the taste out of his mouth. He quickly learned that he did not like scotch, or at least, not that kind.

Iras nodded, a pleased look on her face.

“Yep. It’s insanely expensive too. Got it as a wedding gift from my ex-husband. He had terrible taste in scotch.”

James watched her take another sip, and didn’t miss the small wince this time. He wondered if she had done that before, but he was too busy taking her in. He caught the word ex-husband, but the way it dripped with disdain when she said it pegged it as something not to be talked about. Instead, he leaned back on his elbows again, and stared up at the sky.

“So, there’s better scotch than that?”

“Oh, much better. My usual stuff is way smoother than this. Like a waxed supermodel,” she grinned.

“Then why are you forcing your way through that? You don’t look like you enjoy it,” he observed.

Iras cradled the cup in both hands, turning from him and staring down into the scotch. Her scarred lip quirked a bit, as if trying to smile.

“Don’t know. That’s a good question…” she said, her tone low and barely audible.

James felt the weight of the quiet that followed. The night birds of the jungle had started up their slow songs, and the crickets were just starting to turn in for the evening. He ruffled his hair before venturing:

“So, when we’re done with Hell, we’re allowed to drink?”

Iras turned to him, her eyebrows raised.

“You can drink _now_. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?”

“What?” James sat up, his features slacking. He shot a look at the mess hall, whose lights were starting to click out one by one. The bar was located above, and had all manner of drink for those that could afford to pay.

Iras smiled. “They make great caipirinha’s. They use local fruit and everything. Just, ask Ricardo to make it—Phillip pours weak. You’d think a fellow marine would know how his brothers and sisters like it.” She shook her head, as if not knowing how strong to make a drink was the biggest crime on the planet.

James entertained the idea of barging into the mess hall so he could get to the bar. He decided against it, though, when Iras sighed and leaned forward on her knees. She poured the scotch out with a grateful look.

“Say, War Hero, you’re the first one not to ask me, yet.”

James’ sluggish, tired brain tried to catch on to her meaning. Instead of attempting to decode her statement, he huffed.

“About what? You having an ex-husband, or the shit Berkley’s been going on about?”

Iras whipped around, her eyes suddenly full of fire and ire. James shrunk back a bit, surprised at the reaction.

“Berkley? Berkley is saying what, _exactly_?” She stressed the word like it was an atomic bomb strapped to a shuttle heading their way. She gripped her hands into the grass around them, and James thought he heard the blades ripping in her grasp.

 _Oh, so, not about that_ , he thought, with a grimace.

“Uh… about… um…” James faltered when the side of her lip started lifting in a slight snarl.

“Spit it, Vega. What did Berkley say?”

 _Shit, shit, shit_ , he thought, his eyes widening a bit. All the warnings Berkley intoned earlier that night, about not pissing Bennet off, rang in his ears like a catholic church’s call to mass bells. She loomed over him, her breath beating against his face.

“That, that you spent time in Solitary, but he didn’t know what for,” James said, the words coming out like verbal vomit. He watched her sit back, and in her absence the air around him cooled again. When had she gotten so close?

She scrubbed her face with her hands, pinched the bridge of her nose, and then let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“That fucking shitbag,” she whispered.

James didn’t move. He felt that if he did, it would somehow upset the tentative balance he’d managed to strike up with the woman. He watched her rest her chin on her fingertips, her eyes narrowing in thought. He pitied Berkley in that moment. If it weren’t for him being one of the main drill instructors for Hell, Vega had a very strong notion that Iras would have gone off to beat the crap out of Berkley.

She traced the rim of her glass.

“What, aren’t you going to ask about it?” she ventured. Though she offered, the look in her eyes, the hardness, the edge to them, belied of the intent. If he did, he had a feeling any and all good will built until just now would be blown away faster than a Harvester’s ground assault capabilities. 

James questioned asking. He honestly was curious now that Berkley had gone on about it, and how adverse a reaction that she’d displayed. But…

“Nah, you look like you don’t want to talk about it. So, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Her body released, and her lips quirked just a bit despite herself. It pleased James to see her soothe the edge of her glass again, and they returned to a comfortable silence.

Maybe, it would be worth it to relax out here before going to bed.

 

 


	5. Slow Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Hell winding down to a close, it's coming down to the hard part. All of Hell lead up to them making informed decisions, of them knowing what their strengths and weaknesses were, and who would help them pass the final test. When James begins to drive himself mad with the choice, Garrus shows up to help James unwind. Meanwhile, Iras' latest reflections on her past might just lead to bad places.

**Chapter Five:**

**Slow Burn**

James and Iras became drinking buddies. With little more than a week left of Hell, only James, Tanaka, Anne, and one other recruit remained; all others had either failed or dropped out. They’d moved on from the Southern Grounds, to the more strenuous, difficult Northern Grounds a day after James and Iras bonded over her ex-husband’s bad taste in liquor. Now, James got to see just what good Scotch was, and decide that he also didn’t like that, and commented that it was nowhere near as smooth as a waxed supermodel.

North Grounds was pure chaos. Where South Grounds had structure, and order, its Northern brother was made of pure disorder, insanity, and discord. In North Grounds, they were thrown in to the depth of the jungle, from four in the morning when they woke up, until ten o’clock at night, surrounded by ‘hostile fire’, and tasked with staying alive. After that, they did PT for an additional hour, before given leave for dinner. Sure, they were given armor, and weapons with practice ammo, but each shot that hit you in the head or the heart counted against you. North Grounds whittled out the weak, and it’s where the majority of the recruits faded. Working alone didn’t work, working in pairs didn’t either, and working in anything larger than a three person team meant you were easy to track and pick off one by one. No, they’d eventually formed squads of their own. The goal was survival, but it was also to see how well people held their squads, who formed the lead, and who were the followers. James and Tanaka became the first two in his solid squad, and Anne, eventually, wandered towards them. On bad days, they rained mortar fire on them, not enough to hurt them, but enough to disorient and agitate. On not so bad days, but still shitty ones, they brought in the biotics, who would send random Shockwaves, Singularities, Throws, and any other number of fuckery their way.

William got taken out the second day. He’d wandered from his squad against his captains orders, got hit by a heavy concussive shot, and it served as his final dock.

Now, with Hell winding down to its final week, James found the small bit of company in the bar before bed soothed his fraying nerves. Tanaka always had some farfetched story to tell of some new technology he’d been working on before being dragged away to work on the Crucible. Iras, though reserved even still, would sometimes offer her own stories. Many of the escapades of Delta were still highly classified, and James knew he probably would only ever hear a small smidgen of their exploits, but what he did get to listen to was fascinating.

If he thought Shephard ran the Normandy tight, he was in awe of the way Iras described Delta. Every move coordinated, every action accounted for, every shot counted, Delta held their operatives to a standard that James didn’t think was humanly possible. One night, she even pulled down her tank top strap to show what the dark blue swirl was. The very edge of a dedicated shoulder piece to Delta, and their time on Illium—in asari blue, of course.

Like with Shephard, though, Delta’s leaders knew they ran the squad stiff, so whenever liberty came up, the squad was given free rein. As long as no cops were called, nothing overtly illegal took place, and everyone was consenting adults, they were allowed to do just about whatever they wanted. During liberty time was when Delta earned its reputation as the party squad, and with good reason. James once had a buddy that managed to get into one of their parties. He had woken up the next day in a tub, with scratches all over his body, a pleasant ache in his crotch, and a very large sentinel telling him to move it or he’d turn the water on.

“Any night you can’t remember, had to have been a good one,” his buddy said.

Tonight was like any other night in the bar. It was creeping up on midnight curfew, and the small group had once again gathered to live in nostalgia, or complain about the days pains. Iras sported a new bruise that covered her shoulder, and when asked where it came from, she snorted.

“Damn Krogan’s trying to slam people into walls,” she grumbled.

“Wait, they let a krogan in here?”

Iras nodded, taking a swig of her beer. Lately, she’d been sticking to the lighter stuff. James suspected it meant either her own test was coming up, or theirs. Rumor had it that the N5-7’s helped out with the tests at the conclusion of Hell.

“Yep. Why not? We got an asari teaching the vanguards, a turian coming in for an advanced hacking and technology course tomorrow, so why not bring in an old krogan battlemaster? His biotics hit like a rhino,” she winced, and touched the bruise. James resisted the urge to slap it, well aware he’d be hovering in the air until curfew if he dared to insight her wrath.

“Hold up, a turian is coming by tomorrow? How come we didn’t hear about this?” James asked.

Iras gave him an arch look, her scar wrinkling with a wry smile.

“Because it doesn’t extend to your group. It’s for the N2’s and up,” her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a shit-eating grin splayed on her face. She gave James a sideways look, one that made his neck hair stand on end; he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

Tanaka took the bait first.

“Why does it look like you’re not saying something?” he inquired.

Iras sneered against her beer. James could see the enjoyment she got out of holding information over Tanaka’s head. Tanaka had an IQ well into the 180’s, he was the smartest human he’d ever met, and James was starting to think the guy was a robot like EDI—no one was that perfect. But, he had to agree with Tanaka. The way Iras leaned back in her chair and contemplated her beer told him that she was, indeed, holding out on them.

“Probably because I’m not,” she quipped.

Just as Tanaka was about to stand up and demand to be told, because if there was one thing the man hated more than anything it was not being on the up and up with intel, Iras raised a hand to him. Her features turned serious.

“I can tell you guys, though, that your test is coming up.”

“Well, yeah, Hell’s almost over.”

Iras rolled her eyes at James. He felt a prickle go down his spine when she turned those eyes on him. He liked that look. She had a purpose driven stare, like she could see straight through someone, see to their bones, and decide what made them who they were. Her gaze flicked to Tanaka before she set her beer down. The glass clanked against the metal bar counter, and the bar tender behind the bar took the empty bottle without a second thought. Closing time crept closer and closer lately. But, the tequila or beer helped knock James out for the four hours he was allowed to sleep, so what did it matter?

“Very funny, Vega. You guys need to start thinking about the test seriously. You can’t just be concerned with surviving Hell at this point. Unless you royally fuck up, you’re solid. Has Berkley said where it’s being held?” she asked, her tone pointed. Though she asked them, James had a feeling she knew already. Her posture pulled straighter, and he knew then and there that she knew everything. Though this shift brought with it solemnness, James didn’t miss the light glint in her eye.

Made sense. A rumor went around the Alliance for the longest time before the war that the N5’s and N6’s were brought in during the tests—for what aim, though, he was at a loss for.

Tanaka shook his head, and James said a quick ‘no.’

Iras snorted, and shook her head. James learned over the last week that little love was lost between the two. A past hid beneath the surface, he was sure, but he didn’t know either well enough to start digging to the truth. Instead, he watched the sparking atmosphere whenever the two were near one another. Like two big cats brought too near each other, they would each eye the other, taught and tight, ready for a fight. But, they had a job to do. Prepare the other recruits, and get to their next level.

She threaded her fingers on the bar in front of her.

“Officially, he’s supposed to tell you. He was supposed to two days ago, but evidently it slipped his pea-brain. Anyway,” she scooted back from the bar and turned, fully, to them. “You’ve been training in the North Grounds for a while now, right?”

“Yeah,” James said.

“Well, the final test is off world. But, they specifically choose places that are like North Grounds. Where they’re taking you will be heavily wooded, with water sources, resources for you to tap, and plenty of cover. Like North Grounds, it’s a survival game. You don’t, I repeat, you do not need to take the offending team out,” she made sure the others understood her before she went on. James could feel the tension seeping off of her. “You will be taking on either N5’s or N6’s. Usually, N7’s are brought in for the tests, as they’re graduated and have no interactions with other recruits. However, with the relays busted, and most of the N7’s scattered to the solar winds, you’ve got us.”

“Wait,” James pushed his tequila away. He leveled her with a glare, his hands folding against his thighs. “You’re saying you’re going to be in the team against us?”

“Against whatever squad they pit me against, yeah, I am.” She rubbed the back of her neck, her hair tickling the base of her shirt even in her ponytail. She needed a haircut, James heard her complain about it earlier. He thought her hair was just getting long enough for his tastes, but then again, he wasn’t an adept. Maybe, flying through their meant your hair shouldn’t go passed your collarbone.

“Hold on,” Tanaka breathed. James recognized that look. His eyes darted around, as if reading a screen that wasn’t there, and he sometimes wondered if he had some kind of neural implant, like a grey box of some kind. “Are we going to be in each other’s squads?”

“No,” Iras said, her tone resolute. She crossed her legs and folded her arms under her chest. “You’re going to be assigned to a new squad. You’ll be given top ranking soldiers from our pool, which we keep in reserve specifically for the Hell test. The Major and General don’t want you to have members you know, but want to see you and how you command new meat. They want to see your chops. You will, however, be given the choice of what class types you want going in with you.”

Tanaka sat back, his face suddenly grave. James gnawed his lower lip, slight concern building in his chest. Sure, he’d been doing well in Hell so far. He commanded his make shift squad to victory in the North Grounds for a week now. Nothing touched them, and even though yesterday he’d been beamed with a concussive shot to the shoulder, Anne had sent the shooter flying with a Throw. It’d taken days to create the kind of dynamic James now lead.

Iras seemed to sense their nerves, and she let out a long, slow breath.

“You guys have the ability to lead, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You have a week to figure this shit out, before your assignment pads are given to you. Start thinking about it now. Start thinking about what kind of soldiers you want in your squads, and what career’s work best with yours.”

James took his tequila back, and without thinking downed the rest. The burn beckoned a welcome distraction, and the quick bite of lime helped to soothe his overwhelmed tongue. _Well, shit,_ he thought. He observed Iras standing, pushing a credit chit towards the bar tender, and bid her goodbyes.

The recruits didn’t have to pay for their drinks that night.

 

* * *

 

 

A week until the test to reach N2 seemed like an eternity, and yet all too quick. James sat awake that night, unable to sleep despite the alcohol pumping in his system. Truthfully, for the last couple of days, he hadn’t thought of the test whatsoever. He’d slipped into the routine of Hell, of just concentrating on getting his ass through it to the other side. Though he’d counted the days, he hadn’t quite let the fact that it was ending so soon sink in on him. The faint glow of the data pad in front of him kept his mind busy, but when Tanaka a few beds away grumbled under his breath about its brightness, James snuck his way under the sheets.

He felt ridiculous. It felt like he was back at home, reading a dirty magazine under the covers when he’d found his cousins stash at his _tito_ ’s. Though, granted, he wasn’t about to start jacking himself off to the ugly mugs of the soldiers in the reserve pool for the test, he still felt like he was looking at something he shouldn’t. Maybe it was the sheet over his head? He thumbed his lower lip, and winced when he noticed he’d managed to chap the center fold again.

He ran his tongue over it, as if wetting it would help, even though he knew he needed that fancy lip balm that Tanaka kept in his trunk.

He swept his way through the rosters, and James tried to think about just what kind of a squad would get him through the test. Surely, they’d only let them have three people. As he’d learned with Shephard, three people was a magic number to take into the field. Just enough to get under an enemy’s radar without too much attachment, and with the right load out and personnel choices, just strong enough to take out a base if done right. Given his own career, he had to have someone capable of taking long range shots at the enemy. James preferred up close and personal, but that wouldn’t fly with a group of unknown commandos. No, he had to have a middle ground fighter, and someone in the back taking potshots, and making sure their asses were covered.

A biotic caught his eye. He was a mean looking son of a bitch, with a tattoo over one eye. How he managed to get away with that in the Alliance was a mystery. James went over the guys stats, and resisted the urge to whistle under his breath, for fear of waking his remaining unit. Throw, Singularity, Warp, Pull, and Slam were listed as the powers he knew well enough to command them in high stakes situations. He was an adept, though, and their low health and light armor made them a liability. James felt the old, half serious prejudice against adepts build in his gut, but tamped it down. Shephard was an adept, and she’d killed the Reapers. But, looking at the guy’s service record, though impressive, it became obvious he was no Shephard. James kept going, now idly mulling over the possibility of a biotic on his team. If he had to choose, he’d prefer a vanguard.

James remembered the last time he went up against a vanguard. He’d been his rash self, and got in close. The guy Charged him, sent James flying, and Scars still wouldn’t shut up about how hard James hit the ground. If he could have that on his team, that kind of pure, unadulterated, in your face attack style, then he could see himself surviving without a doubt. Vanguards hit hard—it was like having a krogan on your team without the crazy.

The clock on the data pad blinked a bleary 2:21, and James swore under his breath. Resolving to try to find a vanguard, or something, when he got off that night, he turned over in his bed, switched the pad off, and attempted to get some shut eye.

 

* * *

 

 

Night doesn’t exist on a space station. Not really. Sure, you get your fake sun through them changing the overhead displays, full of puffy white clouds, idyllic happy sun, and azure skies. So, when it came to turning in for the night, for someone that grew up planet side it turned into a chore—one often mitigated with medications. Plus, living on the Presidium on the Citadel didn’t make things easier.

People up here thought the universe was fine. That there wasn’t the threat of an invasion force, like Shephard was talking about. That there weren’t sightings of Geth still coming through the Perseus Veil, or that whole colonies began disappearing a few months back. The calm with which people went about their lives was maddening. Seeing the impudence, the sheer audacity of ignoring the problems in the galaxy, made her skin crawl.

She turned from the balcony, unable to take the sight of people milling about, chattering, celebrating, and just being happy when there was so little to be happy about. If it were possible to slam the automatic doors that all the damn space stations had, she would. She paced the sunken section of their living room, tuning out the music chiming from the kitchen, and avoiding the clocks on the walls.

_Where the hell is he?_

Fredrick got approved for shore leave two days ago, and his ship came into dock six hours passed. He should have made his way to the apartment by now.

Iras span the pale, metal ring around her finger, staring down at it even as she paced. Her military training disapproved her sitting down, of her waiting for him to come into the door. She didn’t want to believe the data pad that found its way into her hands a month ago. Didn’t want to believe Hackett when he’d pulled her into his personal office on their ship, briefed on his comings and goings, and she didn’t want to believe the kinds of people he’d been seen with. Hackett gave her leave in order to collect her thoughts, and, if necessary, her things from their shared apartment. Some of her was thankful that the warship was still in dock. If anything went south, Hackett and her crew were just a com ping away. Another, smaller, twisted side of her, though, wanted them to leave. If it was true what they said about Fredrick… about what he’d done…

She’d have no choice. If she had no choice, then she didn’t want anyone interfering with what she _had_ to do.

Iras pulled at the neck of her combat fatigues. She didn’t like how exposed the fabric left her. Sure, they were mildly armored, but… if Fredrick had defected, and she confronted him…

A loud chime over the intercom made her jump. Iras swept up the data pad, and thrust it under one of the couch cushions. She took a deep, shaky breath, before turning her back to the entrance. She tried to play nonchalant as she heard the familiar gait, the footfalls, of her husband come into the entryway.

One good thing about the Presidium? That all the apartments were made of this ridiculous hardwood, and that the ceilings were too high, so that everything echoed. Funny how her combat training had her prepared, even for a fight with her own husband.

Stop that, he might not even… they could be wrong! She tried to assure herself that was the case. Hackett had to be wrong. There was no way Fredrick would betray the Alliance, not after all it’d done for them.

“Oh, Benny, you’re home early! I heard the Admiral’s ship came into dock, but I didn’t think he’d let you have liberty.”

Iras’ stomach dropped just hearing his voice. Her resolved wavered, flickered like a candle, and she gripped a hand into a balled up fist in order to not just turn and hurl accusations at him. No, she had to play this close to the chest.

“Hey, honey,” she managed, turning to face him.

Fredrick always made that same feeling press into her chest as the first time they met. Butterflies rushed into her throat and brain, making it to where she could hardly think. His mother, a Japanese woman who had moved to North America when the economy began to downslide, had been a beautiful woman, and passed her high cheekbones, eyes, and thick hair onto him. He had his father’s complexion, though, pale as a bone, and just a tad on the thin side from his time in the ICT. She strained a smile, the butterflies replaced by a resentful, bitter taste in her throat.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“You not feeling good? Is that why you’re on leave?” he asked.

He had groceries in his arms, and a bottle of wine resting in the crook of his elbow. She rolled her eyes, but a gentle grin eclipsed her features.

“I hate when you carry it that way, you’ll drop it,” she said. She walked over and took it from him. Iras inspected the bottle, her brows knitting together. “Wow, you got the fancy stuff. What, were you going to drink it without me?” She laughed, and was a little startled at how easily it was to fake her usual self around Fredrick. Had it been that easy for him too?

He held out some of the bags and winked at her.

“Nah, I figured you were up for leave soon, so I got it for us.”

“You know I’m more of a fan of white,” she commented.

“Yeah, well, I figured we’d have steak or something.”

As Iras took the bags, and started to unpack them, her mind began to race. All this food, it was far more than he could eat on his own. Half of it would spoil before he even touched it, and she remembered just how much Fredrick hated wasting food. She firmed her lips together, though, and ushered the milk and eggs into the fridge.

She didn’t know when he’d gone over to the couch, or when he’d flicked the television on, but what she did know was that she heard the data pad reject a password, loudly. She froze, her biotics inadvertently flaring under the distress. Her mouth went dry, but she turned to face him anyway.

“Code? Since when do you have passcode protected pads? What’s on it?” his tone changed. His face twisted, grimaced, darkened, to where she didn’t recognize him. That was all she needed to see. That wasn’t how Fredrick looked at her, even when they were in their harshest fights. Iras watched the periwinkle dance of energy start to flare around his shoulders.

“So, I guess it’s true,” she stated, calmly. She supposed she should be despondent. Her husband, a defector, a traitor to the Alliance, had been unmasked right before her. But, instead, all she felt was white hot rage. Her vision tunneled. She stepped towards the side of the island in the kitchen, her fists balling.

“Depends on what they’re saying about me…” he drawled.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras stopped her fingers from trailing down her stomach. Even through her fatigues, she could feel the slight rise of the scar along her hip. She kept it, didn’t let the doctors surgically correct the tissue, because she wanted the reminder. She wanted to remember what he did, what he had done since, and what he might still be doing.

She glanced up from her orders, still stretched out on the couch in her quarters. The television played the same old static, and for once, she wished she could watch something with people talking, music playing, and life going on as normal.

 

* * *

 

 

The final day of Hell, they took it easy on the recruits. They’d lost the last member of their unit, so all that remained were Tanaka, Anne, and James out on that battlefield, waiting for it to be over. Just like Iras had told them, as long as they didn’t fuck up majorly during that week to earn enough docked points, they were good to go until the test. With the last blare of the siren, they’d been released, and given their orders.

In four days, they were to meet at the shuttle bay. From there, they, and their team choices, would be lifted to a waiting drop ship. The drop ship would take them to an unspecified garden world, which might or might not have local populations of varren. When they arrived, only one team at a time would descend to take the test. The test consisted of surviving for three days. They were dissuaded from trying to take out the teams coming after them. If they survived the full three days, then they would have their scores worked out. If the score was high enough, they passed on to the rank of N2, and didn’t have to repeat Hell in six months. If their score wasn’t high enough, they were invited to take part in Hell again, and have a chance to retake the test. The test was available to take as many times as a recruit wished, but it was generally agreed upon that if you didn’t pass the first three times, you weren’t going to pass at all.

So, with four days’ worth of spare time and planning his team, he had full access to the facility for the first time since he’d arrived. He could go where he wanted, eat when he wanted, and sleep as late as he pleased.

James headed through the D-Wing, ready to check out the simulators when a familiar voice caught his attention.

“Look who it is, Jimmy Vega!”

The turian harmonics, and how lilting the voice was while dripping sarcasm, could only belong to one person.

“Scars!” James turned on his heel. Garrus stood in the middle of the lounge, his hands on his hips. He was back in his old armor, and it pleased James to see that the old scuffs and dents from the final attack were still there.

Garrus walked over to him, his mandibles flaring in what James attributed to be a smile.

“You look well for having gone through, what was it you called it again? Hell?” Garrus asked.

James waved off his comment.

“Nah, man, we just got off early for the last day. I’ve already showered and everything.”

“Must be a nice version of Hell to have showers in it. You know, if turians ran this show, you wouldn’t have access to a shower the whole time you were here.”

“Then thank God that turians aren’t running this,” James exclaimed. He pushed Garrus’ shoulder a bit and glanced around. “When I heard they were bringing in a turian to give some special stuff to the tech experts, I didn’t think they’d meant you.”

Garrus scoffed and sat back on his hips. James never could get used to just how fucking tall turians were. A full seven foot of plates, crests, and cold military calculations was enough to intimidate just about any human.

“Yeah, well, you know how it is. You kill a few Reapers, and suddenly you’re the best technology expert in the whole hierarchy. I suppose they could have chosen someone else, but they couldn’t have done it with as much finesse,” Garrus said. He turned and looked around the lobby. “Plus, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I have to say, it’s a nice set up. Bit open, and I’m not sure how I feel about the biotics having the roof area to themselves. I always hate it when they do that floaty thing,” Garrus held his arms out to demonstrate.

James snickered and nodded. He’d seen Liara do it a few times. Whenever they’d been chasing a target, and Shephard needed someone on their ass that second, she’d send Liara after them in order to slow them down. Sure, Shephard could do the same thing, jump from heights that would kill a normal human and use her powers to slow her down, but someone needed to stay with James. Or, as she’d called it, “hold the lieutenant’s hand.”

“Yeah, they haven’t done that.”

“Yet, Vega, yet. It’s like they like to remind us that they can jump off tall buildings and not die. If Shephard ever does that again, after all this shit, I’ll take her implant out myself.”

The two turned and started walking outside. James had enough of the sun for today, but with it listing towards the horizon, he guessed it was pretty enough to walk around with his favorite turian.

“I’d like to see you try, Scars.”

Garrus hummed for a moment, as if thinking the prospect over. Then, he shook his head, his plates furrowing. “I take that back. I rather like living.”

They passed the barracks, and were rounding the corner towards the walking path, when James asked:

“How is she doing?”

Garrus’ face went taught. His mandible pressed against his face, and even his faceplates shifted with agitation. He ran a thick finger over the back of his neck while letting out a low growl.

“She’s as good as one can be after being blown up. Honestly, I don’t know how she does it. First the collectors, then Harbinger! I…” Garrus faltered, stopped, and let out a small grunt. James just stood there, his hands in his pockets, and looking anywhere but the turian. They didn’t have the same relationship that Garrus and Tali had, but, James liked to think they could still talk to each other about shit that was bothering them. One thing he’d learned about turians, though, was that they didn’t _do_ emotions. So, when the former C-sec officer straightened up, James wasn’t shocked to hear the small hitch of emotion gone from his voice. “I took this job to get away for a bit, to not be reminded of Harbinger, and husks, and all that nastiness wherever I looked. But, now… now all I think about is getting back to London, and seeing her again.”

“Man, you got it bad,” James joked.

Garrus didn’t respond, not right away. He only unclenched his mandibles and continued walking with James.

After a few minutes, of which they’d made their way down the path that dipped under the main area, and were soon surrounded by local flora, Garrus cleared his throat.

“So, I hear that you and your buddies are going to be taking that big test?”

James ran his knuckles over his jawline. “Yeah, guess we are. Got four days before we ship out. I’m supposed to be trying to pick a squad to go with me, but someone got me distracted.”

“Hey, I can march right back up there if you’d like.”

“Nah, I’m good. I could use the distraction. It’s been nonstop since I got here, so it’s kinda nice to just unwind.”

Garrus clicked his tongue to his mouth plates.

“What, you haven’t found a young woman that’s swayed by your charms, Vega? I thought for sure you’d be _unwinding_ that way.”

“Yeah, right, I wish. No one’s really my type,” he lied. There were plenty of women that met his criteria of ‘hot enough to want to fuck,’ but he didn’t want to mess up his time in the academy. He was so close to being an official N2, to getting on his way to being an N7, he didn’t want to jeopardize it with being horny and stupid. He might be a flirt, but he wasn’t stupid.

Garrus made mocking acknowledging noises. “That’s right, I remember now. You’re type is someone who kills Reapers and has a boyfriend.”

“Hey, there’s a difference between flirting and fucking. I’d never do the commander.”

“Major, actually.”

James stopped in the middle of the track.

“Hold up, they promoted her?”

“And half the Normandy. Joker got his the other day. He’s still the pilot of the Normandy, of course, and you couldn’t pry it from his cold, glass boned hands—but, I hear he got a nice raise. About time, though, in my opinion. With the shit she, they, went through, it’s a wonder they weren’t promoted years ago.”

“Shephard was supposed to be dead for most of that time,” James commented. They commenced walking again.

 “True. Darndest thing, though, she just isn’t very good at staying dead.” Garrus drifted off for a second, his eyes glued to the ground passing under them. He managed to snap out of it just enough to ask, “So, have you decided what your team is? I assume there won’t be any ‘magic’ on your team.”

James shrugged. He’d been going over the statistics, and pound for pound, his team wanted for a biotic. Serving under Shephard had taught him the true value of ‘magic’. “Actually, I’d been thinking of having one on my team, or a sentinel. Sentinels are always a good choice,” James chewed on his lip again, and winced when he reopened his split.

Garrus raised his… whatever the turian equivalent to eyebrows were… at James.

“I never thought I’d see the day, Vega.”

James pretended to be offended, gasped, and crossed his arms under his chest. Then he laughed.

“I wonder if they’d let me have you on my squad.”

“I’m going to guess, _no_ ,” Garrus hummed.


	6. Welcome to the big leagues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded test. Lots of POV switching, fair warning.

**Chapter Six:**

**Welcome to the big leagues**

Drop ships smelled the worst. Whether it exuded from that many bodies close together, the fact that water pressure always sucked unless you were a captain, or that the cooks almost always burned the food in the middle of the day and didn’t vent it properly, it stung at the nostrils. The ship shuttling them to Aite, a garden world in the Phoenix Massing, in the Typhon System, was a borrowed Alliance frigate. With the war over, a lot of the war ships became vessels that ferried people between worlds, helped repair colonies, and got important aliens back to their home worlds as quick as possible.

Aite was one of the few rocky planets with rings. Usually, a planet needed a gravitational pull similar to a gas giant to pull in enough debris from around it to create a ring. Scientists still didn’t understand it well, but had come to a tentative conclusion that its unstable moon had crashed into another satellite, and the gravitational well of the planet formed the rings through centuries of grinding the rubble to dust. Aite possessed a moon in a decaying, unstable orbit, one that had it impacting the planet within two centuries and setting off a massive extinction event. This little factoid made it unpopular for colonies. But, this volatility purchased the Alliance an opportunity. With the Sol Relay repaired enough to run close trips, the planet served as a place to hold the tests for the N1’s. Nearly uninhabited, with jungles, deserts, tundra, and all things in-between, it proved to be an excellent choice.

James spent his four days coming up to the test looking over the pool of soldiers for his squad. By now, he’d accepted he’d need at least one biotic, and it took him consulting Garrus over which class would suit him better to decide. He went with a sentinel. They were a good mix of technology and biotic, and had the ability to set off tech explosions with the engineer that James picked. If the Alliance allowed a fourth person, though, he and Scars thought an adept could provide serious ground and rear support. With his group picked, he drank, relaxed, ate, and slept his fill, well aware that for the three days on planet, all of those things would be nonexistent to him.

A good chunk of his time James spent keeping Scars from thinking about Shepard. He learned quickly that Garrus didn’t want to talk about the savior of the galaxy, if only because she wasn’t there to counteract their praise with self-depreciation. So, they went into town, found a nice bar, some nice girls for James to flirt with, and had a blast for near twenty-four hours straight. James didn’t see turians dance often, but he was impressed with how well Garrus could shake it if he got drunk enough. He guessed one of them had to be a good dancer, as Shepard couldn’t dance to save her life.

When it came to being chosen, the General created a random generator program. James was selected first. Nerves gnawed at his stomach as he made his way through the crew-halls. He’d forgotten how cramped a frigate could be. Shepard was allowed to run her crew as small as possible. She picked only the best, and her crew proved it could handle itself. This one crawled with soldiers, of all different backgrounds and trades, trying to keep the thing afloat. Then again, the ship was significantly older than the Normandy SR-2. James held the belief that it saw time during First Contact, even if its records said otherwise. The way the engine groaned when reaching FTL convinced him that either the core was repurposed, or that it got hit one too many times by a reaper.

James rounded a corner, making his way into the mess hall, when he ran into the second crew. The N4-6’s came on the same ship as the James, Tanaka, and Anne. The brass said something about ‘saving resources’ and all that shit, but James thought it was to try to psyche them out.

Iras glanced up from her meal, and they locked eyes for a moment. She bowed her head, but went back to eating, listening to the inane jabber of Berkley and the others around her. The recruits weren’t allowed to know how many people would be out there, waiting to test their skills. The unknown acted as buffer, a way to prime their brains into thinking it was actual combat. All James knew, though, was that it offended him that she hadn’t said one word to him the entire time on board.

The first time they ran into each other, he’d been exploring the new ship and happened upon the portside crew deck, where the others all sat round, debriefing themselves to the coming mission. She acknowledged his existence, and they all went quiet. He got the impression, by the way some of them shifted and cleared their throats, that he needed to leave. There were regulations, sure, he got that, but that she clammed up so damn fast made him prickle.

James nodded, though more to himself than to Iras, and made his way towards the mess sergeant.

“Ah, you’re a new face. You must be one of those going down to Aite, eh? You getting tested, or one of them?” the sergeant gestured his thumb towards the group around the first table.

James shrugged.

“Taking the test.”

The mess sergeant was a kindly looking man, well above the age where he should be on an active ship. His half bald head all but gleamed in the harsh mess lights. With his forehead deeply lined, and his eyes pulled by crow’s feet, he looked the world like someone’s grandfather pretending at being an officer.

“That means you’ll need extra energy. Got just the thing!” he turned his back, and James heard the clanking of utensils on plates. He turned back around, and had a plate heaped with pasta, chicken, and veggies in a thick pesto sauce. James’ stomach let out a loud growl in appreciation. Honestly, he’d thought the food would be terrible, like on the Normandy.

James took the food, gave a hasty thanks to the man, and made his way over the second table. He shot a look at Iras, who this time didn’t look up. Her brows were set, her eyes focused, even as Berkley tried to get the group to lighten up with stories about how he’d managed to sleep with some big shot scientist while working on the Crucible.

 

* * *

 

 

The group in the mess hall dispersed, and Iras was making her way to the crew deck to watch the stars out the windows, when a hand caught her elbow. She tensed, grabbed the hand before she stopped herself, and spun around. Berkley let out a small yelp when she bent his wrist back just a tad too far to be comfortable. Her shoulders firmed until spots danced before her eyes. She still hadn’t forgiven him for spreading that damn rumor, no matter how true it was. Her time in solitary was her business, no one else’s.

“Berkley,” she greeted. She released his hand when he started letting out a high pitched whine, glaring at her grip.

He shook his hand, trying to restore blood flow. She leaned against the wall next to the portside deck entrance.

The way he simpered at her when he looked up at her made her want to kick him in the groin. The temptation to tell Admiral Hackett about his little stunt, both the rumor and looking her up in a secured, classified Alliance base without permission, still itched at her scalp.

“Bennet,” he answered back. His hair drove her insane. How he managed to get away with it being so long, so unkempt, so gross, was beyond her. The fact that he dyed it blond, and that he was obviously a dark brunet with those disgusting roots coming in, didn’t help her prejudice.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you want?”

Berkley straightened up, and gave a shifty glance to the hallway they’d just come down. She could almost hear the hamster in his brain running on its rusty wheel. How he managed to get into the N7 program, much less pass his test, she’d never understand.

“Well… it’s just… that Vega guy,” Berkley gave one final shake to his hand as he spoke. He lowered his voice to a conspiratory whisper, holding his hand up to his face as if to redirect the sound only towards her “He seems to look at you a lot.”

Iras resisted rolling her eyes. _For fuck sake_ , she thought, gritting her teeth. First Athentia, and now Berkley, of all fucking people? She ran a hand through her hair, avoiding the tangles in areas it was still damp.

“Yeah? And?” her voice dripped with displeasure.

“Well, people are starting to talk. Like, how he’s got the hot’s for you or something.”

Iras sneered at him, pushed off the wall, and came as close to Berkley as she could without dry heaving.

“A lot of people have the hot’s for me, Berkley. And _none_ of them stand a chance,” she emphasized. Berkley’s amber eyes narrowed into slits, and she didn’t miss the way his entire body shivered. His behavior over the last two years had progressed from weird, to downright creepy, and Iras decided long ago she’d had enough.

“Would be a shame if Hackett found out. They’d take you off the mission,” Berkley all but sang. Iras felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and she snarled at him, baring her teeth.

“I’d like to see you try, _second_ lieutenant.” Though she didn’t accept the promotion that Hackett kept dangling in her face, she didn’t miss a chance to rub it in Berkley’s face. He hadn’t been offered one. She still ranked higher than he did, he still had to respect her rank and her authority. She commanded a unit, whereas he sat on the sidelines. Hell, she was even an N5 where he was an N4—he shouldn’t even be here. In her mind, he shouldn’t even be near her. There was no comparison between them, in her mind.

 He swallowed loud enough for her to hear the click at the back of his throat.

She stared him in the eye until he grunted, and looked away.

“I don’t fucking have time for this. I don’t want to see your face until the mission starts. Suit up, asshole,” she commanded.

Her appetite for a view before the test being spoiled, she pushed her way past Berkley. She knocked his shoulder hard enough to stagger him, nearly upsetting his footing, and stormed her way into the crew quarters.

 _Who the hell does he think he is_?

She slammed open the trunk to her load out locker, and began her triple check of her armor. Her body still rang, and her skin still ran hot and cold, when the alert to start preparing for shuttles came over the intercom. For the first time, she looked forward to some action. She needed something to hit to take her anger out.

 

* * *

 

 

The amount of foliage of the forest put Brazil’s Amazon to shame. The underbrush clung to the trees and ground, and there was hardly a free spot to set your foot down without cracking a twig, a leaf, or something else. Bushes grew to the size of small trees, and some had red tipped leaves that told James he’d feel very uncomfortable for a very long time if he touched one. A water source ran to the north of the drop site, which, while good for not dying, was one of the places enemies would stakeout. Limited sunlight managed to pierce the thick canopy overhead, and what did left the forest dim.

The two guys that James brought with him, well, one man and a woman, followed James as he made his way into the forest. The shuttle lifted off behind them, pushing them forward as it took off. It skittered off under the canopy for a while, until it found a hole, and they were left to the sounds of the jungle.

For a second, James’ brain froze. Even though Iras said they found a place that should remind them of the North Grounds, the plant and animal life were so alien. Even the bugs were different.

He realized he’d been standing there too long, just taking in their surroundings, when a snap to their left made him start. He lifted his phasetron assault rifle, focused its scope, and tried to peer through the dense greenery around them. Nothing. He let out a small breath, held up his hand, and ordered his team silently to form a triangle as they made their way into the interior.

They needed to find shelter, first and foremost, but not something obvious. They also needed cover for when the eventual bullets started raining down on them. Some fallen trees, with trunks so thick they must have been ancient, laid on the ground to their right, and a few large moss covered boulders lumbered in front. While those were well and good, and would do if they faced a frontal attack, if the enemy managed to flank them they’d be wide open. Instead, James looked up, gnawing on his lower lip as he tried to work out his plan.

The trees provided limited cover, and would only work for a surprise attack. Given that the orders for the test explicitly stated to avoid trying to take out the groups charged with trying to ‘kill’ them, he pushed the idea to the sidelines. Instead, they started to climb a small embankment, off to the left of the boulders.

There, his group found one of the ten supply stores that were scattered along the testing grounds. Limited ammo rations, limited food, and limited water, but enough to make it possible to survive.

“What do we do with these?” the sentinel he brought, a woman, pointed to the food rations.

The old turian strategy of a scorched earth tactic sprung to mind. But…

“Take what we can hold. Leave the food, we don’t know what the water on this world is like, and we can’t risk a fire. Bury the rest. We’re probably already being watched, but better safe than sorry.”

James and the engineer stood watch, his omni at the ready to summon a combat drone, while having a pistol wrapped in his free hand. With the rations hidden as well as they could be, James made his team mate mark down the location of the stash, before he motioned them forward.

 

* * *

 

 

“Trying to hide provisions from the enemy. Not bad, Vega.”

Iras smirked despite herself, grateful for her breather helmet that kept her face hidden. The N6 that accompanied her section of the administrators crouched low in the brush, scanning the goods.

“He took ammo and water. What, no food?”

“Looks like he doesn’t want to chance having to boil the water on this cesspool,” Iras observed. She stood and looked in the direction that their tracks went. The attempted cover job was pathetic, but the fact that they saw fit to try to cover their trails was admirable.

“Smart. Though, leaving anything to the enemy is a bad idea.”

“What do you want me to do with it?” Iras asked. She already had her hands glowing blue, ready and able to carry out her orders.

“Take it out, quietly. We don’t want them to know we’re this close already.”

“On it.” Iras held her hands out and formed a small barrier around her and the stash. With one hand still maintaining the field, she fished out her rifle, and opened fire on the ammoremaining ammo left by James’ team. Outside of the field, only a faint popping noise escaped as smoke filled the bubble. Iras let it dissipate, then opened all the packs of food, and left them there on the forest floor.

Caleb and Iras both vanished in a streak of blue, up into the trees, fast on the trail of James’ squad. She watched the back of her fellow biotic, an advanced Slayer Vanguard who she’d trained more than once with. If he unleashed, full force, against James and his squad, then she wasn’t sure they’d last the night. She worried, and questioned Hackett’s wisdom of bringing on such an over exuberant wild card.

They cleared an area where the squad had obviously stopped for a breather, for whatever reason, and Iras ran a thermal sweep. She motioned to Caleb.

“They’re setting traps already,” he commented.

The glow of proximity mines met her visor, and again, Iras resisted the urge to praise the marine.

 

* * *

 

 

James winced as a shot shattered a section of the boulder he hid behind. He’d run into his first major hurtle, unaware that he was taking one the main routes built into the course. Two turrets stood in their way, and they had locked onto James’ position the second they came around a bend. A constant barrage of fire rained at him, and he questioned the structural integrity of the rock he hid behind.

“Take them out!” James ordered.

His sentinel and engineer both teamed up on one of the turrets, Overloading it and forcing it to explode, and in the explosion it knocked the other off its balance. Though tipped over, it still continued to fire at James’ position, until he pressed the center on a frag grenade, and sent it flying over the rock. The turret was ripped into shrapnel in the ensuing detonation.

“They really aren’t playing around,” James said, as he ducked from behind the rock. He crept forward, and noted the breaks in the ivy around the bases of the turrets. Boot prints stood in stark relief to the primordial surroundings. Though he wore heavy armor, and his shields were some of the best money could buy thanks to his time on the Normandy, if he’d gotten caught in the line of those things without any cover, he’d been ripped to shreds. He kicked a shard of metal before motioning to continue on.

“Looks like the games are starting, guys, keep on your guard.”

“Roger that.”

“Yes, sir!”

James swept his rifle sight along the far end of a clearing they were approaching. He didn’t like the idea of open ground, and there were few areas for them to have cover. A few downed trees, some obviously placed crates, and a rotting out shuttle from a failed colony were all that could be able to shield them from incoming fire. But, James glanced around. The forest was too thick. Every animal stepping on something made his senses train in that direction, every little breath from his team made him on edge. There were too many places to hide. And, from what the turrets told him, there was already an offense team in front of him somewhere, lying in wait.

James motioned his team over, his brows furrowing.

“Set up trip wires, I want to be alerted to anyone being behind us. Also, get some more proximity mines. I want some in a quarter mile around the perimeter, that way, if they try to flank us completely, we’ll have an out.”

“You mean we’re going into that kill zone?” the sentinel asked, her eyes narrowing on Vega.

James nodded, his jaw set.

“If we get hit from the north, I want you behind that shuttle. If we get hit from the west, I want you behind those crates. And, from the east, those trees.”

“If the mines don’t work, and they flank us?”

James took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension building in his stomach. He wasn’t fooled. The clearing existed as a test site. It was to see what route they’d take, and how well they’d manage getting attacked. He had no questions that if he stayed in the forest, they’d get hammered, and if they went into the clearing, they’d get hammered. The clearing had enough space, though, for the biotic to do her stuff, and the long range for the engineer to fully come into play. There was such a distance, too, that only a sniper would truly be able to fire at them. Anyone who wanted to do any real combat would be forced to come into the clearing after them, and that’s when things would get interesting. Where there was enough cover for James and his group, there was also enough for the enemy to get a foothold.

A catch-22 situation if there ever were one…

“Then we punch a hole the old fashioned way. See where they’re weakest, and hit that area first. Now, get those mines laid. Stay within sight distance, and keep your communication channels open.”

“Sir!” The two set about their work while James labored over the plan. He had to leave enough wiggle room to be able to adjust his strategy accordingly. The first plan never survived first encounter with the enemy, so he had to leave his options open. He just hated the idea that they were going into this half blind.

Now, he knew how Shepard felt.

 

* * *

 

 

“Brave man,” Caleb breathed.

Iras sat above the N6, her legs dangling off the tree branch. They watched James and his crew from above, an eighth of a mile away to avoid detection. She watched as James motioned the others to their duties, and appreciated the amount of bravado that taking the clearing route afforded him.

“Or stupid,” she said.

“There’s a surprising amount of overlap with the two,” Caleb laughed. He stood, and fingered the hilt of his sword. It’d been a while since she saw a Slayer Vanguard in action. Sure, watching Athentia was thrilling, and she appreciated how the asari moved with their biotics, but there was something to be said about a Slayer. The only other one she had seen in full action were the vids of Kai Leng on the Citadel. They moved so fast, their swords were so damn sharp, and they would decimate an enemy at close range. But… a Soldier, like Vega, was one of the only classes that stood a chance against a full-fledged vanguard.

“I want to see this guy in action. I’m growing impatient; where are the others?”

“They haven’t reported in yet, Commander.” She summoned her omni-tool, and attempted, again, to reach Berkley and his squad. When she was met with nothing but static she growled under her breath. _Incompetent, as always…_

“Fine. We’ll hit them from behind. They won’t be expecting that. You lay down a Singularity and take out the shields of the Sentinel first. We don’t need their biotics interfering with our own,” Caleb ran a clawed glove over the jaw of his helmet. She didn’t understand why vanguards had those fucking things. Yeah, they got in your face, but she’d never seen one resort to actually trying to claw an opponent’s eyes out.

“When do we strike, sir?” she asked.

“When they’re halfway in the clearing, at their most vulnerable. That said, if your shields go down, Bennet, you get your ass out of there. This is a marathon, not a sprint. This is just to tire them out, not to knock them out completely.”

Iras didn’t ask why not. She knew how Caleb worked. They worked together before he’d become an N4, he’d been a candidate for Delta. She read over his profile, saw vids of him in action, he was damn good.

She watched James’ squad set up trip wires, more mines, and then began making their way across the clearing. Just as they got to a quarter of a way in, both were startled by the sound of opening fire. Several of the administrator squads were coming at James’ squad straight on, through the north side of the clearing.

“Fucking Berkley,” she spat.

Caleb cleared his throat, though she didn’t miss the nervous tick he had of stretching his fingers on his thighs.

“There they are… Remind me to have a talk with Berkley when we got on the ship. I hate a disorganized attack,” Caleb commented. Before she could respond, or send the communication over her link, Caleb glowed a bright blue, and was gone in a streak.

He landed with a hard pound, sending shockwaves around him, and knocking James’ engineer off his feet. Iras swore under her breath, but none the less followed suit. She jumped out of the tree line, and used her biotics to slow her fall as she came behind James’ squad.

 

* * *

 

 

James had just enough time to dodge the sword slice aimed at him. He backed up, brought his shielding up, and took the blade right on his arm. Stumbling back, he managed to see a black blur flip away from him, land, and then come charging at him again.

 _Fuck, they have a Vanguard_ , James swore, mentally. Of course they had a fucking vanguard. They wanted the test to be as hard as possible, so why the hell not have a god damn vanguard? James ducked in time to avoid another slice, and managed to dive into cover when a barrage of shots was aimed at him.

“Get them off my ass, Rodriguez!” James shouted. He was forced to roll away from another slice, only to see his engineer sent flying. Rodriguez, his sentinel team member, managed to deflect a Warp aimed at her from an oncoming biotic.

James turned and grabbed his shotgun, making the vanguard dodge in order to avoid getting a massive hole in his torso. The vanguard flipped back again, and vanished in a streak of blue towards the tree line.

James turned his fire at the oncoming troops from the North, gritting his teeth as he opened fire with his assault rifle. If he could keep them back while Jones recovered and covered his ass, he could help Rodriguez out. He sent a grenade flying into the depths of the four oncoming troops, and they were forced to jump out of the way, thinning their numbers in all direction.

Jones opened fire from his position, having recovered from a devastating Throw, and gave James the needed time to turn his attention to the adept that had cornered his sentinel. The adept dodged a Stasis aimed at her, and threw a singularity at Rodriguez. The size of it was impressive, the likes of an asari, and it instantly started to suck in the sentinel’s shielding, stripping her bare of them.

“Focus fire on the adept!” James ordered.

They all turned their sights to the biotic, and when they began to volley bullets James managed to get a good carnage shot in that broke through her barriers.

The adept sent out a large pulse around her body, a Shockwave that sent James tumbling to the ground, and before they could get their bearings, she had streaked off like the vanguard. James returned to his former cover and glanced to see where the incoming troops had gone.

“Shit, they’re in cover…” the exact thing that James wanted to avoid. He turned to Jones, shouting over the rapid succession of shots from both sides, “get your combat drones in there! I want them out of their holes!”

With a loud mechanical whir, the glowing orbs rocketed their way towards the enemy, locked onto their heat signatures as they came closer. James turned to Rodriguez, whose shields were slowly starting to build back up after managing to escape the Singularity. She regained her footing, and looked to James between shots.

“Cryo blast the first one that comes out of hiding, then Jones, give me a turret! We need cover fire!”

“Sir!”

James heard the turret erected, and strove to give Jones time to get the thing operational.

Sure enough, the first member of the enemy squad was pushed out of hiding by the combat drones, who sent shocks and pyro attacks to the unfortunate soldier. Rodriguez aimed, then blasted them with her ammo, which ate the enemy’s shielding on contact.

“Vanguard! On your six!”

James dodged again, but this time got clipped on the shoulder. The vanguard unleashed a blistering blur of sword slashes, and when James didn’t manage to block two of them, he felt his armor get sliced through like butter. Luckily for him, however, it didn’t pierce into the skin. James freed himself from the assault by managing to punch the guy square in the jaw of his helmet, and shot him point blank with his shotgun.

The vanguard staggered back. He looked down to where his armor had dented, though no holes were present, and cocked his head at James. James felt a cold run down his spine, but as he threw his shotgun down in favor for his pistol, he had no time to reload, the vanguard flipped away from James and into cover, where, James assumed, he would attempt to regenerate his shields.

 

* * *

 

 

“Pull back.”

“Sir?” Iras asked when Caleb managed to find his way over to her crate.

He ran his hand over the indentations of the buck shot he’d just been on the receiving end. Though uninjured, he ordered a retreat. She frowned, powered down her biotics, and glanced over to Berkley’s squad.

“You heard me. Give the order when we’re clear. We’ve tired them out enough, for now.”

James was a soldier that needed to be overwhelmed to truly shine. She listened to him shout orders, back and forth, between his team mates, and she was certain that if not for the pull-back order, that his squad would have been forced to make a retreat. Iras obeyed Caleb, and sent the message across the pathways.

 

* * *

 

 

James stood on the CIC of the drop ship, three days later. His body fatigued, his stomach still growling, and dirt, blood, and grime all smeared over his body. Even through his armor, the environment managed to leave its mark on him. The final push on the third day had been brutal, and more than once James thought his squad would buckle. The administrators went almost all out. Combat drones, defense drones, full on biotic assaults, turrets, grenades… James still couldn’t believe he’d held the team together until the clock struck zero.

He saluted when Major Acker turned to him, after consulting the holo’s of Hackett and O’Brien. He nodded James to at ease, and swept his gaze over the marine.

“On behalf of the Systems Alliance, it is my pleasure to congratulate you, James Vega,” James couldn’t hear the rest of Acker said. All he could hear was rushing in his ears, the buzzing of his body, and the sudden wave of pride crashing over his worn out body. James passed, he officially was an N2, and on his way to becoming an N7.

He barely acknowledged when Acker bowed his head, a sign for him to get off the CIC and down to his quarters, where he could get his well-earned rest. James let out a sigh of relief, a grin spreading from ear to ear as he rode down the elevator.

When the doors open, he came face to face with Iras leaning against the wall across from the elevator, her eyebrows raised.

“So, how’d it go?”

James stepped out, as a few others stepped in.

“Well, Acker’s a dick,” James started. Iras’ eyes darkened, and James sneered despite himself. “But, I passed! I’m officially an N2. Booyah!” James bounced on his toes, though the motion made his already burning legs sear.

Iras’ smile lit her face up, and she pushed off the wall.

“That’s awesome! Congratulations! You were pretty damn good out there. You even gave Caleb a run for his money.”

James pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing. “Caleb the Vanguard?”

Iras laughed and nodded. “How’d you guess?”

“Guy wouldn’t get off my dick the whole time. He wouldn’t give me an inch of breathing room. When you guys teamed up, though, man I thought we were done for.”

“That’s the value of biotics, Vega,” Iras drawled. She watched the way his shoulders sagged, and the bags under his eyes were the darkest she’d seen since the War. James resisted the urge to lean against something.

“Still unreliable, if you ask me.”

“Say that to Caleb’s face, I dare you,” Iras commented. She stretched out a shoulder, and James noticed a bruise running the length of her triceps. He’d done that, he thought with some pride. She got too close once, when trying to send him flying with an overcharged Throw, but he got to her first with a carnage blast. Honestly, with how light her armor in the field was, he was concerned he’d rip through her armor and into her. But, she’d dodged for the most part, and only got grazed.

James wanted to stay and chat, he really did, but his body, now off the battlefield, felt like a metric ton of lead inside a squishy skin suit. Iras stared at him, and James wondered if her eyes were always that pretty of a grey color, or if it was his fatigue talking. She stepped back from him, and motioned him towards the barracks.

“You need to get some rest, Vega, you look about dead.”

“Yeah, I feel about dead,” James joked.

Iras turned to walk away, but then hesitated. “We’re headed to Omega once the tests are over. Acker has some unfinished business on behalf of the Alliance with Aria T’Lok. We’re being given two days of liberty while we’re there, so rest up, War Hero. Drinks are on us. Welcome to the club.”

James wanted to be happy. Nothing in this galaxy got his blood going like the knowledge of free booze, especially in a place like Omega. But, his brain was fried, and couldn’t be bothered to release any more pleased feelings than what was already pumping through his veins. He staggered off to the crew quarters, where his not so soft bed felt like a cloud compared to the cold, vegetation covered earth of Aite.

 

                                                                                                         


	7. Alpha and Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a celebration of the the candidates passing their tests, and becoming full fledged N2's, the ship heads over to Omega. James senses underlying tension between Berkley and Bennet, but doesn't let that spoil the night. Strippers are called for, lots of drinking, and a walk down the docking hall back to the ship that ends somewhere it probably shouldn't.

 

**Chapter Seven:**

**Alpha and Omega**

When a soldier is called into an Admiralty Board meeting, one of two things were about to happen. Either they were going to be court-martialed, or a very hefty promotion was coming their way. Given the recent events in her apartment on the Citadel, Iras Bennet doubted that she was going to get her promotion to First Lieutenant.

She thought that, _maybe_ , she should cross her legs, try to be lady like in front of the committee in front of her. She thought, maybe, that she should probably look up at them as they droned on and on at her. She thought, maybe, that she could still feel the warmth of dark energy surging through her body as she sent that son of a bitch hurtling against a wall. All of this lazed through her brain, but none she listened to. All she did, all she perceived, was the buzzing in her ears. The doctor said that would pass, given time. After all, you can only take a biotic kick to the head so hard without nearly going deaf… and having a severe concussion.

“Are you listening, Second Lieutenant Bennet?”

Iras pretended to shake her head. She raised her eyes to be level with the committee member that addressed her, and turned her head so that her ‘good’ ear would face him. She’d have full function of her hearing within the month, but the doctor said that she’d been lucky. If he kicked her any harder, he would have destroyed the bone structure within her ear, and she’d be shit out of luck. No amount of medi-gel can fix a destroyed inner-ear.

“I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time hearing you,” she drawled.

He colored, spluttered, and wrinkled his face. She didn’t like politician’s, never had, but the way they looked at her, like she was some common criminal, made her blood boil.

The woman next to the man that spoke leaned forwards. She gestured with her hands, as if to tell her to come closer if she needed to. The shifting of the guards behind her, and their guns letting out a low whine of charged thermal clips, reminded Iras that was probably a bad idea.

“What we are asking you, Bennet, is why you attacked Commander Nagase against direct orders? You were told to let the proper channels handle this matter.”

Iras didn’t look at Hackett. When they came to the hospital to take her to Earth, she saw first-hand the disappointment in his face. His jaw had been set, like steel, unmoving, but his eyes showed everything. She scraped her boots against the floor under her.

“I…” she paused. Reaching a still bandage covered hand behind her, she scratched at the stitches still in her neck. “He came home. I didn’t expect him to come home,” she said, her voice hitching.

That caused the man from before to scrunch his nose.

“You didn’t expect him to come home, so you attacked him?”

“He attacked me first,” she insisted, her eyebrows knitting into a scowl.

“Right, and why would he do that? According to our information, he was preparing to leave the Citadel, that very night. And yet, here you come, charging in like a rhino, and fucked it up.”

Iras bit her cheek to keep her remarks to herself. She felt the heaviness of the stares around her, the way they were all passing judgment without really wanting to hear her side. She didn’t bring up the data pad. If she did, she was aware it could implicate Hackett. No, this was her fault. Fredrick’s escape, and her failure, were her own damn fault.

“We had a chance to capture a Cerberus defector before he could slip our grasp, and you let your emotions get in the way! Defying an Admiral’s order, your Commanding Officer, and blowing the cover of an Alliance mission objective, these are serious infractions.”

Iras flared under his scrutiny. She sat up in her chair, and in her anger, a pulse of blue shot across her body. Laser dots instantly focused on her head and back, and the committee gasped.  

“I didn’t _just_ let my emotions get the better of me!”

“We had Cerberus under control in this theater until you let that man get away!”

Iras could feel her eyes glowing, the pulse of her biotics a sharp pain to her rattled implant.

“Tell that to my cousin’s brother, you asshole!” she barked.

“Power down, Lieutenant.” A hand closed over her shoulder, and she started. She expected to be thrust to the ground, detained, and hauled off for her powers activating in the presence of the committee. Instead, the hand squeezed her, gentle, but firm, and she recognized the voice instantly. She spun on Hackett, and the energy pulsing over her body flickered, then died.

The woman committee member tented her fingers before her. The look on her face was that of resignation. Iras didn’t like that look.

“We’ll have to hold you under confinement until we decide the proper punitive action for your defiance of orders, as well as your recent _display_. We also have to consider the fact that you were married to a Cerberus defector for so long… and what that means for the security of this military.”

The tone of her voice, the way it hit Iras, stunned the Lieutenant. She gaped, unsure of what she’d just heard. How could the actions of Fredrick possibly weigh on her own? She looked to Hackett, as if for support, but he frowned, shook his head, and let her shoulder go.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, where we headed once we get to Omega?”

Iras snapped out of the bad memory. She turned the pin that she got for her promotion after solitary, to signify her rank as a First Lieutenant of the System Alliance. She glanced over her shoulder to James, who was leaning against the frame of her bunk. His face read of excitement, both from his promotion within the program, and of them approaching the lawless hub of the terminus system: Omega.

She stuffed the pin down into her trunk.

“Afterlife. Where else would we go?” Iras asked. She pulled herself up to standing with the bunk’s frame, and did not relish the popping sound in her knees. Her joints shouldn’t pop and creak when she was only twenty-eight. Then again, she had just spent nine days terrorizing the three new N2’s on the ship, with little sleep of her own, and way too much jumping for her taste. Her side still hurt from where Tanaka managed to graze her with one of his inferno drones.

James made a face that caused her to blink.

“What, you don’t wanna go all the sudden, Vega?” she asked.

James held up his hands in front of him.

“No, no, it’s not like that. Just that Afterlife is a bit mainstream.”

“You’re sounding like one of those subcultures from the early 2,000’s, War Hero,” Iras commented. She cleaned the underside of her nails. The one thing she forgot to bring on the ship was a scrubber to reach under the blunted things. Nine days in a jungle had her hands looking like she tiled an entire farm with her fingers.

“Just hear me out. There are some great hole in the wall joints in Omega. I mean, sure, we can go to Afterlife if you want overpriced, watered down drinks, but why do that when you can get trashed on good drinks, for dirt cheap.”

“Because, I don’t feel like getting roofied.”

“What, you think I’m gonna roofie you?”

“Yes, because you’re the only person in my mind, James,” Iras teased, leaning against her bunks frame to mirror his posture. “There’s no one else in the galaxy.”

James scoffed, and Iras noticed the way the scar through his bottom lip wrinkled when he resisted smiling.

“I knew you liked me, Bennet. Trying to hide it under all that bravado and sarcasm.”

“Uh-huh,” Iras intoned.

“No, seriously, why don’t we pregame somewhere else. You know, get nice and tipsy before going to Afterlife? That way, we don’t pay a small fortune for drinks.” He firmed his lips together, again, as if trying not to smile, and Iras found his reaction too entertaining for her own good.

She shrugged. “It’s up to the other guys, really. I didn’t realize you were worried about how much we’d be spending on you newbies, Vega.”

James pushed off the frame and nodded his head just a bit, barely enough for her to pay attention to the gesture.

“I figure everyone’s still a little broke after, you know. No need to go throwing money around pointlessly.”

“Right, because the reason you’re okay with going _back_ to Afterlife totally isn’t the asari strippers,” Iras said, her tone cajoling.

“Hey, hey, I never said that. I mean, you’ve seen how they move? They’re like water,” James got a far off look, as if reliving his last encounter with an asari stripper. Iras chuckled at him, _typical jarhead_ , she thought.

“They are pretty limber,” she trailed.

James snapped out his revere and gave her a puzzling look.

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” she didn’t know someone’s face could go through so many emotions so fast. She liked James’ face. Though not as expressive as someone like Caleb, the little flashes, the quick succession of how they made his lips down turn, his brows quirk, and his eyes narrow, all made her want to tease them out of him again.

“Didn’t know you swung that way,” James murmured.

Iras raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t know a lot of things about me, War Hero. Now, if you want to go somewhere other than Afterlife, go talk with Caleb. He’s the one orchestrating this whole thing.” She waved him away, and even as she turned she heard him let out an exaggerated, impressed snort.

The door rasped open, then closed, behind James. Iras eyed her bunk, then her locker, before scrubbing her mouth with her palm. She paused to thumb the scar on her chin, but, when her stomach start to tense up, she dropped her hand from her face. Resigned, she hit the shielding button next to the table at the far end of the crew quarters. She watched as the stars listed by the ship as they approached Omega. Soon, asteroids, dust, and debris wasted the view, but by then, Iras was already seated and zoned out.

 

* * *

 

 

James didn’t know how to feel about this Caleb character. Iras trusted him with her life, that much was apparent, especially when the two tag-teamed an opponent. James never saw a vanguard move that quickly, much less able to get so close without James noticing. But, he made James uneasy. The way he was utterly calm, like nothing in the world could ruffle him. Sure, he respected that trait in Shepard, and he supposed it half had to do with the fact that it came off as arrogance from the N6, but it gave the impression that Caleb was always one step ahead of him. So, when James approached him earlier that night with his list of bars they could frequent before heading to Afterlife, he’d listened and commented that one of them had been on his list anyway. It being a favorite of half his squad, they agreed to head down there first, before making their way to Afterlife for strippers and gambling.

The way he flippantly told James that he’d thought of that bar, rankled James. But, with that attitude came the knowledge that the N6 and his squad were going to treat himself, Tanaka, and Anne to a night of free booze, possibly free dances, and a good time he was probably going to forget when he woke up the next day. So, he forgave Caleb, if only for a time.

When they docked at Omega, James saw the current of the crew change. Everyone from the engineers below deck, to the shuttle pilots, to the CO’s on the CIC were all humming with excitement to get of the ship and blow off some steam. With the General seen off ship, and headed to a private meeting with Aria, the shore leave was finalized and they were given their permission to leave. A once twenty-four hour shore leave had been extended to forty-eight, following that all the recruits had been promoted, it was a kind of gift from the General to the crew.

Some of the crew overdressed for their nights out. Some in full blown fancy wear, with blazers, slacks, or button downs, and others didn’t even change out of their combat fatigues as they milled out the airlocks. Sure, a skeleton crew was required to stay on ship, but they had volunteered. A few, James heard, objected to them coming to Omega at all. Even with Aria’s support during the Reaper War, she was seen as a despot to many, and a war criminal. James, on the other hand, just put on the nice, clean shirt he’d brought for when he passed his test, and a pair of comfortable pants. Nothing too fancy, just enough to not look like a bum, and to not get targeted for pickpockets and idiots looking for a rich guy to fuck with.

They agreed to meet up at a bar in the lower districts called Havana. Run by two humans from Earth, it was allowed to stay in business since it posed no threat to Aria and Afterlife. There, they served drinks with a distinct Cuban and tropical flair, though truthfully you could order just about anything there. Though run by humans, and catering to humans, the bar had a small following of turians after the War, and occasionally, asari would happen by to check out what the fuss was about. A true hole in the wall, the bar was just to James’ liking. He’d frequented the place more often than he cared to admit before Anderson found him, and brought him on to guard Shepard during her stint in Solitary.

When James arrived, he glanced around the cramped surroundings. Every day was a weekend on Omega, and the poor sought refuge in whatever embrace they could find—which, more often than not, was liquor. James knew the feeling all too well. When drinking, you could be carted away on a cloud, away from all your cares and troubles, and your mind became a muddled haze. Or, you could become an even worse wreck than you were before, dwell on all the wrongs done to you, every person dead, every bet lost. There wasn’t much of an in-between when it came to drinking on Omega.

He spotted the slicked back, pitch black hair of Tanaka at the corner of the bar. The man looked up, nodded, and motioned James over. When he found a stool next to him, James gestured to the bartender.

“Well fuck me, it’s James Vega. Been a while, kid. Where ya been?” One of the bar owners, Todrick Kale, happened to be manning the bar that night. He was a tall man, with high cheekbones, and a wide, toothy smile.

“Tody! Man, I haven’t seen you in forever! Didn’t expect you to be working tonight,” James fist bumped with the man. Todrick didn’t normally work the front end. He said he’d done his time in the front lines back in Florida, and that wasn’t a big people person. Guess a war has a way of depleting the employee reserves.

“Eh, shit happens. What can I get for ya, Vega? First one’s on the house! And no, you can’t have ‘just a beer,’ not when I’m paying.”

“Must be nice to know the owner of a bar,” Tanaka said, watching with a smirk.

“Margarita on the rocks, then, my good man. And make it strong. I don’t want you skimping on me like last time you made my drink.” James situated himself on the stool, and caught the entrance of the rest of their party out of the corner of his eye. From the looks of it, only Iras, Caleb, Berkley, and another N4 made it. Todrick rolled his eyes.

“Not my fault all you jarheads like your drinks strong enough to power a frigate!” the old man cried, but turned to start making James’ drink anyway. Caleb slid passed Tanaka to sit at the end of the bar, with his back to the wall, and James recognized the look of someone checking all the sightlines, cover areas, and exit routes. Even when on shore leave, and off duty, he supposed a true N7 never relaxed.

Iras sat next to James, but he didn’t miss the way she tensed up when Berkley took the seat on the other side of her. A hostility flashed and flickered between them, and idly James remembered the seemingly disjointed first attack during his test. Had Berkley gone off on his own and not informed the rest of his squad? The way Iras nodded to Todrick’s assistant, and requested a shot of their strongest vodka, told James he might be right.

“Hey, now, no need to go so fast. We got all night to get drunk. Pace yourself,” James nudged Iras. She grunted, but managed a small grin back at him. Yep, given how quiet Berkley was, and how out of it his drinking partner seemed to be, James would bet his left kidney that something happened. He shot a glance to Berkley, who by now was nursing a fruity drink through a tiny straw.

“Aw, Vega passed his exam and now he’s giving a veteran drinking advice,” she shot back, though the playful glint in her eyes told James it wasn’t mean spirited.

“If you want to get shit faced before we even leave, then your funeral.”

“Please, it’ll take a lot more than a vodka shot to kill me.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered as much, Knuckles.”

Iras paused, brought her shot from her lips, and eyed him.

“Knuckles?”

“What, you can give nicknames but I can’t?” James asked, pretending to look offended. Todrick set down his margarita in front of him, and he caught the way she silently coveted it. He set a mental bet with himself that, if she didn’t buy herself one, he’d take a shot with her.

“So, mine’s Knuckles? I’m a biotic, Vega, I don’t tend to do the whole punching thing unless I have to.”

He watched her knock her shot back. She set the glass down, winced, and shook her head. James offered her his lime slice that came on his margarita. She took it, gratefully, and bit the edge, her features softening at the chaser.

“Yeah, but, biotic punches hurt like a bitch. Saw an assassin get thrown clear across the room with one. And _that_ was by a terminally ill Drell.” James licked the edge of his near goblet sized glass, then took a long, appreciative gulp from it. The burn of tequila slithered down his throat, and spread through his chest.

She offered him his lime back, though only half teasing, and when he took it back from her and plopped it right in the center of the drink she laughed.

“You know you just added around ten thousand bacteria? Probably more since it was in my mouth.”

“Yeah, but this way, we sorta kiss.”

“Uh-huh,” Iras laughed. Todrick hovered near the group, acting as their own personal bartender as the crowd of the bar came and went in waves. She quirked a brow at him, and James watched the scar on her lip twitch before she said, “if you want a kiss, James, you’ll have to give me a lot more than a lime.”

“Oh?”

Tanaka was too busy talking excitedly with Caleb to notice the flirting happening just at his elbow. James caught snippets of their conversation, something about combustion manifests on krogan battle tanks, and how the bursts of speed they afforded the machines could potentially help the Kodiak’s. The N6 seemed impressed, his hazel eyes sparking with interest as the newbie in front of him stammered on. His inattentiveness suited James just fine.

Iras nodded.

“Yeah, it’ll take at least four more shots before any kissing happens with anyone,” she stated, as if it were common knowledge.

“So, what else’ll you have, sweetheart?” James watched Todrick tower over Iras in her stool. The man stood at an easy six foot seven, and if he had wanted to, James was certain he’d make a good living playing basketball.

“Vodka cranberry, please.”

“What, you’re not going to have one of these?”

“Tequila and I don’t get along, remember?” James watched the sullen expression on Berkley’s face as the conversation continued. Iras leaned forward on her stool, and leveled him with a stare he couldn’t read. “You did good out there, James. Not a lot of candidates do that well. You have a real shot at this.”

James didn’t know if it was the margarita talking, or the way she sat back up, shrugging her shoulders in the shirt he just now noticed. It had holes on the shoulders, showing off the edge of her Delta Squad tattoo, and gripped the edges of her forearms. The back was also revealed, from her shoulder blades to her mid back, showing off the swirls of another tattoo that James didn’t know about. The black contrasted off her pale skin, and James resisted slipping his gaze further down.

She looked good. The joke before about her saliva being in his drink, despite the acidic nature of the cocktail, and how unlikely her germs were to survive the environment, hummed in his ears. Okay, maybe it was the margarita talking. Man, he’d turned lightweight since the war ended.

James cleared his throat, and made good on his mental bet.

“And you told me to slow down. You haven’t even finished your first one, Vega.”

“You’ve inspired me,” James extoled, mock bowing at her.

Iras snickered.

“Careful, War Hero, you keep flattering me like that, and you’ll tempt me into drinking tequila.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Don’t be a little bitch, Vega, take the damn shot!”

James frowned at Iras and Caleb. He’d lost a bet, fair and square, over who he thought between the two could chug a cheap, warm beer the fastest. His money had been on Caleb. He lost.

“Who are you calling a little bitch?” he barked.

“The fresh faced N2 sitting next to me. Now, c’mon, speed it up, _mon ami_!”

James, by now, was too far gone to notice either his translator glitch, or her switching to French before it could catch it. He wrinkled his nose, sat back on his stool, and hammered the shot back. The cheap tequila, the kind that James half expected to have a thresher maw baby in it, seared at his nostrils, made his eyes burn, and his throat ache. He tried not to cough, but it came through anyway.

“Fuck!” he shouted.

Iras held out a lime she’d coerced from Tanaka’s drink. James bit into it, thankful for the rush of acid to cut through the acrid hell.

 

* * *

 

 

_This is my kind of night!_ James thought as the asari in front of him writhed around. She crouched on the table, spread her legs, and then leaned back, exposing her lean body almost completely to the marine. He licked his lips, and enjoyed the show. He couldn’t count how many drinks he’d had so far that night, he lost count after seven. He shot a look over to where Tanaka sat.

The poor boy looked highly uncomfortable. Even with one of the prettiest asari in Afterlife sitting on his lap, her arms around his neck, and shaking her chest in his face, he wouldn’t look up. His face was red from his nose to his ears, and James wondered where the chipper kid that talked Caleb’s ear off had gone.

The woman on the table before him stepped down, and straddled Vega’s thighs. She raked herself up his body, bringing his face just shy of her chest, and proceeded to give him one of the best lap dances he’d ever had. She’d turned around and was dragging her ass up his lap, and over his abs, when she said:

“You look awful familiar, soldier. Where you from?” She turned and again straddled him. Her hips gyrated on his crotch, and as she moved in time with the thumping music of Afterlife’s VIP lounge, James had a hard time focusing on talking.

He eased into a smirk, and cocked his head a bit to the side.

“I served with Commander Shepard. You probably saw me on a couple vids,” he bragged.

The asari let out a low hum, her blue eyes glinting at him.

“That’s right. Well, I’m happy to serve such a… well known customer.”

“Well, you’re doing a fantastic job.”

 

* * *

 

 

James didn’t know how they got up to the fourth level of Afterlife, the one reserved only for those interested in a more… masculine clientele.  Maybe it was between him hearing Iras and Caleb bickering about how the boys had their fun, and now it was her turn. Or, it could have been when James said he was comfortable enough with how ripped he was that a bunch of naked dudes wouldn’t bother him. But, here he stood, watching as Anne and Iras each were laughing up a storm.

Iras had been pegged from the get go. A guy nearly half James’ size, but with a good deal of definition for a civilian, had grabbed her and started giving her personal service. And, thanks to that, he knew what an underwear shot consisted of.

The stripper put a test tube shot of some yellow liquid, he’d said it was hard lemonade, but James thought it smelled strongly of tequila, was put into the strippers speedo line. He made Iras get on his knees, and James was sure she’d have punched him square in the jaw for suggesting it. James always thought that, unless the woman was about to give you head, the position was demeaning, but Iras sank down anyway with a loud scoff. Then, she’d grabbed the tube with her teeth, and swung her head back, knocking the shot down like a champ. She did it in one fluid movement, like she’d done it a thousand times.

James now knew why Delta Spec Ops Squad was called the Party Squad. They went hard, and didn’t stop until someone passed out or vomited.

The vomiting happened first.

Tanaka handled himself well enough for a kid his age. He drank just as much as the rest, and though James’ vision was tilting, and his body pleasantly thrumming in time with the music around him, James could keep going for a few more hours, while Tanaka vomited up his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

With Tanaka partied out, Anne teetering on wobbly legs, and Berkley nowhere to be seen, the group decided that eight straight hours of drinking, dancing, and shouting at each other over the music was enough. Caleb offered to escort the two drunkest member’s home, while James was left to make sure that Iras had no trouble settling the tabs.

“Fucking Berkley,” he heard her mumble under her breath as she stalked from the bar on the main floor. One thing to love about a place like Afterlife, all services were included, and kept track of. If you ordered a dance, it showed up on your tab, extra if you requested more than one. She stuffed her credit chit back into her tight fitting, but flexible, Fury suit pants.

“What about him?” James asked.

They made their way through the hallway lounge, with its dim lighting and advertising, to the main doors. Iras made a frustrated noise at the back of her throat, ran her hand through her quickly tangling hair, and scowled.

After hesitating, waiting for the doors to open, she glanced to James, then to the city in front of them.

“No, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She waved at the air, as if the motion would dismiss his curiosity. If anything, it enflamed it. He shadowed her down the steps, easing passed a group of batarians hanging around a local food shack as they made their way to the ship.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing. He giving you guys a hard time?”

Iras made another noise, and the sober part of his brain-what was left of it-urged him to ignore the fascination with that sound. The sounds of Omega’s early morning, or what could be considered early morning on a space station with no artificial sunlight, drifted around them. Stores began to open their shades, food vendors set up their goods, and workers began preparing for the day. This early, one could see that Omega was a place for the working stiffs. It ran on the backs of merchants that worked their asses off trying to get by, to pay for their shitty apartments, to feed their kids, to maybe make a life for themselves outside of Citadel space.

The likes of Aria, in her throne, pretended to understand what Omega was about. But, during James’ time here, he learned firsthand. Yeah, Omega had an underbelly. Slaves could be bought and sold if you knew the right guy, merc bands ran things with iron fists, drugs, prostitution, sex trafficking, just about anything went on Omega. But, James saw the softer edges. The people who worked to see their kids smile. The people who moved away from colonies after the Collector attacks, because there was no way they’d hit a station as well fortified as Omega. He saw the lives of the people around him, the honest people, the good ones, which only wanted to live and let live. That’s what made Omega somewhat great.

Iras laced her hands behind her back as she walked, looking at stalls as they went. She didn’t answer his question, but the hard line that formed through her scar told him he was right. James made a mental note to look into Berkley.

“Surprised you’re walking as straight as you are. Delta doesn’t play,” James changed the topic. He didn’t want to finish the walk to the ship in silence. Not when the cold air of the station was hitting his overheated skin. He wanted to distract himself from the way his eyes kept focusing on the back of Iras’ neck, where the scar was for the biotic implant. He’d always wanted to touch one of those.

Iras scratched at the area, as if sensing James’ stare.

“Yeah, well, I’m drunker than I look. One thing I learned in Delta, never let anyone see you stagger. The second people notice your shit faced, they’ll take advantage, and not in the fun way,” she said.

“Makes sense,” James conceded. “Though, what’s the fun kind of being taken advantage of?”

“Oh, I don’t know… waking up with a naked man half-strewn across you, his dick still in you, and with no idea why your mouth tastes like Ryncol.”

James grunted, though smirked.

“You’ll have to work harder to make me blush.”

“Almost had you.”

“Yeah, right,” James said.

“What does it take to make you blush?” Iras asked, lazily watching the crowd around her. She had a satisfied smile on her face, and it made her grey eyes almost glow in the low lighting.

He hummed as he thought, running his thumb over his chin.

“Why would I tell you?”

“I’ll find out one day, Vega. You forget, you’re stuck with me until I graduate now that you’re an N2.”

“Oh?” They rounded a corner, entering into the docking bay. “When do you graduate?”

“When I pass my evaluations on my tests,” she whined. She ran her hands through her hair again, a trait he noticed she’d started doing the second they talked about anything personal. A nervous tick?

James was taken aback by the sudden gnawing in his stomach. Later, he’d blame it on the alcohol, but the idea that Iras would be leaving any time in the near future made him disappointed. He watched the way her mouth moved as she began to excitedly talk about her next mission, one outside of the compound, and he liked the way her incisors were just a bit pointed, and the way her eyes wrinkled just enough when she laughed that little lines appeared that traced to her hairline.

He didn’t know when it happened, but soon, they’d both stopped walking, and simply stared at each other. He, when he remembered later, would liken it to seeing something you see every day for what felt like the first time. Iras was a bush he’d been driving by this whole time, and he just now noticed the color of its leaves. They were too close, he realized even through his haze of booze and sudden rising lust, but his body didn’t seem to care.

James took a few steps towards her, tentatively, and to his impaired approval, she didn’t move away from him in the wide docking hall. Her breath beat against his face, his neck, and invaded every inch of his personal space.

“ _Il fait chaud_ ,” Iras murmured, though her voice was quiet, and a bit strangled.

The sudden change in his perception perturbed him. Even in his state, he knew what he was about to do was stupid. Not only was she an N5, three full ranks above him in the academy, but he barely knew anything about her. Iras kept their conversations surface during Hell, and what he did know he gleaned from others that spoke of her. She wasn’t his type. There were regulations against kissing a… well, could they be called squad mates? There had to be regs against this. Still, the rational side of his brain was drowned out by the feel of Iras’ neck on James’ fingertips. The contact sent small little bolts, like static, down his arm, and he bit his lower lip at the sensation. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the feeling of touching a biotic for the first time.

His lips hovered over hers, and her eyes locked with his.

“ _C'est le monde à l'envers_ …”

Before she could finish whatever she was beginning to babble in French, James’ lips pressed to hers. She was softer than he’d thought, and the blunted off end of her mouth did little to impede the second, firmer press of his mouth to hers. When she didn’t pull away from him, his other hand found its way to her jaw, and tilted her just right. A wave of thrilled sensations flooded his body, and he resisted the urge to start backing her up against the wall.


	8. Pause Button

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuation of James and Iras' kiss. What happens in the aftermath? What doesn't have a chance to happen? Just as James is starting to notice how much time Caleb and Iras spend together on their off time, Iras is sent on a mission away from the academy, and away from James.

**Chapter Eight:**

**Pause Button**

 

 

 

Iras’ head swam. She didn't what she’d said, or done, to make him do this, but in her addled state, she didn’t mind. James’ body was everywhere. His hands skirted up her sides, and she could tell by the pressure in his fingertips that he contemplated, and then denied himself, the glory of bunching up her shirt. His lips pressed to hers again, this time until she let out a small noise at the pressure. Unsure what to do with her own hands, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer with the motion.

He surged forward, as if her action was all he’d needed, and she gasped when her back hit the wall. His tongue, hot and demanding, slicked against her lower lip, and the adept surprised herself by allowing him entry. Fuck… she thought. She tried to rally her senses—they were, after all, only a few docking ports away from the ship. If any of the crew walked out and happened to see them, it could bite them in the ass. But, no one had touched her like this in months, almost a year, and it awakened nerve-endings she forgot she had.

James burned against her. She didn’t know what it was about him, but she’d noticed it a long time ago whenever he sat next to her. He scorched the air around him, sucked all the moisture away, and left her feeling parched. Iras scraped her nails up his neck and through his scalp when he did a particular twist of his tongue against hers.

His scent purged all smells from around them. He was spicy, like a mixture of cinnamon and clove and something distinctly James Vega, and she liked it.

Good, god, he’s good, she thought, even as his body pushed flush to hers. He kissed slow, gentle, and leading, but at the same time it was demanding. Any time the rational side of her brain started to alarm her of their situation, their location, their ranks, he did that thing with his teeth on her lower lip that made the world focus back down to his hands on her stomach, on her hips, on her back.

James pulled away and Iras had just enough time to let out a long, shaky breath, before he leveled her with a look. His eyes darkened in the docking lights, and the way his breathing was hitting her face, traveling down her neck, and invading every pore of her body, made her shiver.

“You need to stop me,” James stated, even as he leaned forward. He rested his nose behind her ear and took small inhales of her scent. Iras’ skin prickled, and she tried to stamp down the tug the action had on her core.

 _"Why_?” she breathed.

James growled, and managed to tear his hands off of her body. He placed them on either side of her head, leaned against his elbows, and rasped:

“You’re drunk, I’m drunk… and unless you want to break at least four regs, I need you to stop me.”

Iras couldn’t help the smirk that spread over her face.

“What, you can’t stop yourself?”

The look on his face told her that, right now, he couldn’t. He kept looking at her lips, as if the small amount of time he’d taken to order her to make him stop this, whatever this was, offended him. He swallowed, and Iras watched the bob of his Adam’s apple. She sank against the wall and idly balled his shirt in her hands. She felt James tense at the motion, but she didn’t let go.

“Kiss me again, so I can make sure,” she all but ordered him. He furrowed his brows at her, but she kept her stare even with his, unwavering in her resolve.

James obeyed.  He pressed his lips to hers again, and this time didn’t hesitate to seek access to her mouth. When she allowed it, he growled again, and the vibrations went straight through Iras to her bones.

She didn’t know how long they carried on like that, or when he’d started pressing their bodies firmer together, but when James pulled away, his teeth scraped her lower lip. They both panted in the still dock air, and the sound boomed in her ears like canon fire. Iras couldn’t deny the now heavy arousal pulling at her stomach, or the way her body was just a few pushes of his body away from shaking with want. But…

“We should stop,” she murmured.

She saw a flicker of disappointment flash over his features, but it fled as soon as it came. He pushed off of her, and tugged at his clothing to set it right. Not that anyone would see them, but better safe than sorry.

He watched her finger-brush her hair, because she couldn’t remember how many times he’d played with the ends, or how often her head had ran against it in his conquest. The burn of a faint blush colored her cheeks as she fixed her shirt.

“So, how many shots did it take?”

Iras raised an eyebrow at him. After finishing their primping to look sufficiently put together for having partied for the whole night, they continued their walk.

“How many for what?”

“You let me kiss you. How many shots did it take?”

Iras wrinkled her nose in a laugh and pushed at his shoulder.

“More than I want to think about, Vega. My mouth is going to taste like ass in the morning.”

“It’s, technically, morning now. Are you saying my mouth tastes like ass?”

Iras shrugged. She wouldn’t tell him that he tasted perfectly fine. Musky, yeah, but all traces of alcohol had been washed away long before. What she was more concerned with, was his scent. It still lingered in her nose, making her dizzy—or maybe that was the twelfth-mystery shot she had at Afterlife.

 

* * *

 

 

Hackett owned an office at the ICT. As the head of the Alliance Military, and the key figure-other than Shepard-in taking the Reapers down and saving Earth, Hackett pretty much had an office wherever the fuck he wanted one. And though his time was valuable, he had a planet to rebuild, soldiers to get repaired, and aliens to get home-and pushing through legislation for alien/human marriage due to the close proximity of so many recovering individuals-he still liked to watch over the progress of the students at the ICT. With such a small candidate pool this go around, what with the Reapers decimating their forces, he was partial to thinking that these recruits might be some of the best since Anderson himself went through the training.

He glanced over the rosters of the three that passed the N2 promotion test, and he lingered on James Vega. Hackett remembered how Anderson handpicked the kid to watch over Shepard. He, on the other hand, thought the boy’s hero worship of Shepard would create a conflict of interest. After all, what if Shepard had ordered Vega to do something against regulations? Nothing major, not enough for any other soldier to think it a big deal to break, but enough that would get them both in trouble. Luckily, his worries had been unfounded. Anderson sure could spot a diamond in the rough.

A pang of guilt, or some other dark emotion that Hackett didn’t like to dwell on, gnawed at his chest. Stuffing it down, and reminding himself he didn’t have time for self-pity or drawn out mourning, he set the data pad down and looked up the woman in front of him.

Iras stood with her hands behind her back, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail, and her uniform the crispest he’d seen it in months. The change made a small alarm go off in his ear, but looking her over, and the knowledge of their stop off over in Omega, he decided that it was merely something insignificant. After all, the officer in front of him knew better than to do anything truly stupid.

“Sit, Bennet.”

She did as he said, without a moment’s hesitation. Hackett waited until she did her usual shift, the one that signaled she relaxed in his presence enough for him to get much work done with her. High-strung didn’t begin to do Iras Bennet justice, but, she performed exceptionally well under pressure. Hackett didn’t think he’d seen a stronger biotic stress response since Subject Zero aka Jack.

Iras shifted back into her chair, though she watched him like a hawk. Too concerned with how others perceived her, Hackett once likened her to a social chameleon. She felt out her surroundings, who she was with, and adjusted accordingly. It’s why he’d called her in today, a full week since their stop at Omega. He needed that flexibility.

“Sir,” she said, though the way her mouth ticked at the corners denoted a question.

Hackett leaned forward, splaying his hands on his desk. During his visits to the school, what would be the General’s office became his. All things were removed, and replaced with what made Hackett a more efficient leader. An FTL communication array was set up in the corner, maps and plans were strewn about the room in paper and data form, and he had all his weaponry settled just right scattered through the room—hidden, of course.

“A situation is starting to develop in the Annos Basin.”

Iras let out a small click at the back of her teeth and crossed her arms.

“What kind of situation?” she asked, her voice edged.

Hackett set a data pad in front of her, and waited for her to take it. When her hands enclosed around it, and she began to read the information displayed in glowing relief, he stood from the overly padded chair. Maybe the General had become too used to the simple luxuries of the school. A chair so soft could only do bad things to the General’s body, and reduce his battle readiness.

“A small band of pirates has started cropping up along the supply line. They’re interrupting our ability to help the outer colonies. I need you to deal with them.”

Iras raised an eyebrow at him, and at that moment Hackett thought she looked startlingly like her mother. She gnawed on her lower lip, glanced through the info again, and said, “You want me to take out nearly fifty men on my own?”

“What, you don’t think you can handle it?”

“I would just rather not die, sir,” her sarcasm reminded him of her father.

Hackett snorted, resisted the smile that came with her impetuousness, and turned his back to her.

“Of course I don’t expect you to go in alone. You’ll be given access to a team.”

He could hear her frown. She shifted in her chair again, the legs scraping against the marbled flooring. Yes, Hackett thought as he gave another look around the overly large space, the place could use some remodeling. Maybe he should remind the General what being in the military was like.

“And by team, do you mean some members of Delta?” she asked.

Hackett expected the question. He turned with a curt nod, and didn’t miss the small grin that ghosted over her features at the idea of working with more of her squad mates.

“Commander Caleb Suttikal, however, can’t come with you, I’m afraid. With the other recruits passing their promotion test, he’ll be needed in order to provide needed anti-biotic training for the school. But, those that can are on the roster. You’re running this mission, First Lieutenant,” he let the statement hang, like a great weight, over the young woman. She firmed her lips and nodded, her eyes narrowing. “You’ll be sent as soon as you’re ready. We cannot delay on this, Bennet. You need to get this under control as fast as possible.”

“How long do I have to prepare, sir?”

“I want you off planet within six hours, Bennet.”

“You’re giving me a lot of room to move, sir. Where do you want me to start?” she asked.

Hackett crossed his arms as he turned back to her.

“We don’t know where they’ll strike next. I want you start with the station, but other than that, you’ll be given as much room to maneuver as you need. We need them gone, Lieutenant.”

Iras stood, as if sensing that was all he’d asked to speak to her about. He held out a hand, his features softening.

“Are you still refusing the promotion, Lieutenant?”

Iras paused, then her eyes shot to the ground.

Hackett scowled, and rubbed his knuckles against his jawline, his beard scratching at the scarred up flesh.

“You’re a damn good soldier, Bennet. Your parents would be proud of you, and what you did that day. Don’t forget that.” He hoped, idly, that the invocation of the two people that could always talk sense into the stubborn girl would bring some semblance of realization to her face. In reality, it caused her features to darken. She wiped her hands on her pants, mussing up the order of her uniform.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Hackett dismissed her, and watched her walk out of the door. When it closed, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered if her parents were here if they’d be able to talk sense into her. The deaths of her teammates were no more her fault than the rain currently falling on the base.

 

* * *

 

 

James remembered everything. The night in Omega stood in stark contrast to the calm of the academy. Omega was chaos, dancing, drinking, strippers, and even with the occasional night out with Scars, there was nothing on this planet to compare it to. It also didn’t help that James remembered how Iras felt under him, against that wall.

What possessed him to kiss her, he still didn’t comprehend. Sure, he could blame the alcohol, but at that point he hadn’t been nearly as tipsy as he liked to believe. Sure, the world titled under him a bit, and his head felt full of cotton at the time, but he’d known what he was doing when he pushed Bennet against the wall. And now, whenever he saw her, he could only think about how she’d tasted. There was the usual, the hard lemonade from the last shot, and the lemon to chase it, but there was that undeniable taste that brought his senses to that same swimming sensation whenever he thought of it. She smelled good, too, so now whenever he was near her he resisted the urge to see if she’d been wearing perfume that night, or if she naturally smelled that good. He couldn’t just up and ask her. That’d be weird.

James batted around the idea of telling Garrus what happened. He sat at the edge of the classroom as the turian rattled on and on about advanced mathematics that went into calibrating thanix cannons, like the one on the Normandy. He wrote problems on the board that James could only vaguely follow, and demanded the students solve it over the next week.

When the class cleared out, James made his way down the stadium-like seating. He leaned against a table, and watched as Garrus gathered up what little he brought to class in a day.

“You’re really into this teaching thing, aren’t you?”

Garrus scoffed, his mandibles flaring out in what would be a smile.

“I find it’s infinitely better than being shot at, so yes, I enjoy it.”

“Careful, Scars, you sound like you’re going soft on me.”

“You live through what we have, Vega, and you’re allowed to go a little soft in your down time,” Garrus hummed. The turian wore his civvies again today, and the more James saw him don them, the more he thought they suited him. If Garrus could just let go of the injustices he saw everywhere he went, and retired Archangel, then James could see the turian and Shepard settling down somewhere nice and quiet.

James nodded, frowning in agreement.

“Yeah, good point. Almost makes me want to take a break from all the training, you know?”

“You, not living the military life day in and day out?” Garrus mocked, his eyes doing the smiling for him. James’ received a crash course in turian facial expressions, and though he struggled with individuals he didn’t personally know, he could read Garrus like an open book by now. They made their way through the classroom doors as the turian tugged at the seam on his tunic. “You’re too young to just up and quit the military, Vega. It suits you, for now. But, when you start getting older…”

“You sound like you think you’re eighty. How old are you anyway?”

“Oh, I’m about to turn thirty-one,” Garrus said, his harmonics dipping a bit with the statement.

“That’s not old!” James barked. “Wait… you’re only two years younger than the commander?”

“Yes, the commander is quite the, what do you humans call it…” Garrus waved his hand around, her eyes narrowing in the bright Brazilian sun. “Puma? Mountain lion?”

“Cougar?” James offered, a chuckle in his tone.

“Yes, that. Why do you call older women going after younger males big cats? It’s an odd classification system. Though, I suppose Shepard is as dangerous as one,” Garrus conceded.

“I don’t know, man, it’s slang. Don’t turians have slang?”

“We do, but you humans update your translators so fast. It’s almost like you’re afraid of what we’re saying about you…”

“Yeah, well, I wonder why.”

“Why, Vega, I’m offended you’d even think the turians would say something untoward about humans,” James heard the way Garrus’ voice all but dripped with sarcasm. He snorted. Garrus’ mandibles clicked against his jawline, and he patted James on the shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that one of your instructors?”

“Instructors?” They hadn’t been told who they’d be training under over the next six weeks of course work. James’ scores were solid in everything but anti-biotic warfare. He’d nearly bit a few times when up against Iras and Caleb, but then again, he didn’t know how anyone stood a chance when those two double teamed them. More than once during the test, James found out first-hand what that blue stuff tasted like when he had a biotic punch or kick to the face. He turned to where Garrus had gestured, and spotted those very two over by the shuttle landings.

Garrus observed James, the way his head had snapped around, and the slow creep of red tinting his ears.

“Did something happen between you and the girl?” he asked.

James realized, again, that he’d been staring too long. But, he couldn’t help it. Lately, over the last couple of days, he noticed that the two biotics chummed around more than he’d noticed before. Whenever they had off time, the two were off in their own little world. Sometimes, he caught snippets of their conversation: nothing but idle banter, and stuff to pass the time. Other times, he just tried to glance at them without getting caught. The more he noticed, the more he wondered.

James cleared his throat before turning back to Garrus. He debated telling the turian. After all, Garrus acted as a faculty member for the length of time he resided here. James didn’t know protocol for transient teachers reporting something that might infringe on regulations, but he glanced over to where Iras was now pointing at the data pad in Caleb’s hands. He couldn’t see her face, but the way she sat back on her hips and crossed her arms, told James that they were talking about something serious.

“Maybe,” James said.

Garrus clicked his mandibles again, an action James still hadn’t decoded. Honestly, turians would be easier to read if they had actual mouths like the rest of the galaxy.

“I always thought you hated biotics.”

James couldn’t deny that he’d been more than vocal on the superiority of muscle to biotics. He couldn’t help his stance. Growing up how he did, seeing what his dad did, seeing how society treated biotics, and what the biotics in turn did to cope society, muscles were the only stable thing that James knew. His dad wasn’t a stellar ambassador to the dark energy wielding soldiers, Liara and Shepard filled that role much better than he, but it’s all he’d known growing up. James got a first row seat to seeing just what biotics could do, of course, when he served on the Normandy. He never saw anyone throw someone so far up into the air, and then slam them back down so hard, as when Shepard did it to a batarian slaver squad back in the day. He could still hear the cracking of bone in his ears if he closed his eyes. He just couldn’t let go of what little bias still existed.

“Hate’s a strong word, amigo. Besides, have you seen the female Fury uniforms? Tight in all the right places.”

Garrus scratched the scarring on his right mandible, his brow plates meeting in a small click.

“I’m not that attracted to humans, Vega, so I don’t find the uniforms appealing.”

“So telling the Commander you said that.”

“Major,” Garrus reminded. He looked over to where the two biotics were now in, what seemed to be, a small argument. “So,” James liked when Garrus’ whole face opened up when he was about to ask what he considered to be a loaded question. “What’s this whole ‘maybe’ about?”

James batted around what to say. What could he say, really? That they’d drunkenly made-out in a docking bay on Omega after a night of too much liquor? That made it seem cheap. Maybe it was cheap. He’d been unable to look the adept in the eye for more than a few seconds after what happened. The more James thought on it, the more disappointed he was in just how ready he’d been to jump on her if she hadn’t stopped him. The burn in his body had awakened something he hadn’t felt since before the war, and he’d wanted to pull her into her cabin and fuck her into the bed.

“We… kissed.”

It was Garrus’ turn to snort.

“That’s all? That’s your version of a maybe? You humans,” Garrus teased, shaking his head. James remembered stories that he’d heard of turian warships. How, when things got really tense, especially before high risk missions, that there was more sex happening on board than the command knew what to do with. Where the Alliance had strict interpersonal regulations, turians were laxer, and gave their soldiers more leeway in order to keep morale up and units cohesive. To a turian, making out with someone of a higher rank probably seemed like child’s play.

“Not ‘just kissing,’” James corrected. “More like, against a wall, had to stop before things got too heated in a docking port kissing.”

The way Garrus’ eyes lit up made James worry about what he’d just said. No matter how close the two were, the turian still acted as a member of staff. He momentarily panicked that he’d get docked for his behavior.

His fear was unfounded.

“Not bad,” Garrus said.

“But, what was that you said about instructor?” James cleared his throat again, changing the topic before he pushed his luck. He knew Garrus, knew him well enough that the guy wouldn’t rat him out to the board, but he didn’t want to chance someone else hearing them.

Garrus motioned to keep walking, tearing James away from the argument just a few yards away. Turns out, the academy noted his weakness against biotics, and they were giving him training to even it out before it became too big of an issue. Especially, in a galaxy now firmly united with the asari.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you mean, Jenner would be too weak on his shields to come with me? We don’t even know what we’ll run into. We don’t even know what race the pirates are,” Iras contended.

“I’m saying that, if you want someone who’s going to be able to take more than three shots without his shields dying completely, it’d be a bad idea. Look, why not take Marcus? His shields are solid, he wears heavy armor, and he’s one of our best weaponry experts. He puts Jenner to shame,” Caleb countered, swiping across the data pad to bring up the soldier in question. Iras rolled her eyes.

“He also has a prostitute problem.”

“Yeah, an asari prostitute problem. I doubt you’ll run into many of them out there, not so close to the end of the war. Plus, he’s all business when on mission.”

“He’s an obnoxious fuckwit,” Iras groaned, rubbing her temples. The last she’d seen of Marcus was before Hammer landed, when he’d been communicating with their leader his team’s position, and how they were going to “kick so much Reaper ass, it’d make the krogan look like pussies.” She didn’t like him, point-blank. His voice was artificially deep and gravely, he over hopped himself on legal steroids, and thought he knew everything when it came to guns. He probably did, but Iras still didn’t like his attitude.

“He takes orders well, and you need someone like him on your team.”

“Fine,” Iras concluded. She admitted, Caleb was right. She needed someone that could take a beating while she and the other biotic recharged. She also needed a sniper, but with their main guy MIA and presumed dead, she didn’t like anyone within the remainder of Delta.

“Good. When do you go off world, anyway?” Caleb handed the data pad back to Iras. She’d come to him with questions on the best squad setup for this particular kind of mission. She wanted to stay low, to keep their profile as Alliance marines as close to the chest as possible, and in order to do that, they whittled down the pool to the top ten.

Iras tucked the data pad under her arm.

“As soon as I finalize the squad with Hackett.”

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Caleb grinned.

Iras grunted, but smiled anyway.

“Yes, dad.”

“I mean it. I’m surprised you didn’t get promoted for what you did back there.”

Iras darkened, and didn’t say anything. Instead, she looked away from her former captain, her jaw set. The sun scorched down on them, baking her in her black tank top. With sweat rolling down her back, she pretended not to notice the heavy stare of the two that’d just walked passed them.

She heard Caleb let out a long, slow exhale.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“No,” she muttered. She didn’t turn to him as she said, pointedly, “I turned it down.”

“You did what?”

“I turned it down.”

“Bennet, are you insane?” Caleb spun her to look at him, his face painted with disbelief. His grip on her shoulders was firm, almost painful, but not enough to bruise. He opened and closed his mouth, like a shored fish trying in desperation to breathe. “Why not?” he demanded. She noted the way his hands quavered, as if he struggled to not shake her like a ragdoll.

Iras almost knocked his hands away, but noted the disappointed anger in his eyes.

“I can’t take it.”

“Is it because Hinojosmith? Iras, there’s no way you could have saved him.”

“You don’t know that!” she snapped.

“And neither do you,” he flared. Caleb let her go and ran both hands through his dark hair. “Do you think you’re the only one that lost people that day?” he asked, pointing at her chest, his finger close enough for her to feel its heat, but not enough to touch.

Iras swallowed. Sometimes, she forgot how long Caleb served in the Alliance before his file crossed into Delta’s hands.

Delta became her home. When you spend so much time with people, when you’re in such close proximity to one another day in and day out, for months, sometimes years, your comrades became your siblings. Caleb served in his unit for over four years before he came up for Delta nominations, and that entire time they’d only lost two men. His unit was decimated during Hammer’s strike. The image of him standing over the charred body of his captain still burned in her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Whenever you pull this kind of shit,” he hesitated. His face was a storm of emotion, a contradiction of its usual calm self, and she felt her stomach sinking at being the cause of such turmoil. He flopped his arms by his sides, and Iras knew that was his sign that he was done with the conversation.

She fumbled around for something to say, to ease some of the abrupt tensions.

“So... you and Tanaka sure talked the night away?” she grasped at things to talk about, and gripped at the first solid one that came to mind.

Caleb paused in his small pacing, and he eyed her, even as his neck bloomed with pink.

 

* * *

 

 

Two hundred years ago, space travel of this magnitude was unheard of. Mass relays hadn’t been discovered, and space stations were the best that mankind could put into orbit for long-term habitation. Biotics didn’t exist, and though many acknowledged the possibility of alien life out there, it was agreed upon that it might not be within the Milky Way. So much changed within two hundred years. Iras wondered if the population from back then could see what was within their grasp, was within a few more generations, what they would think or say.

She supposed it was all speculation. But, she knew one thing. She never got tired of the view. As the Alliance sloop pulled into the dock at their destination station, where the unit she handpicked would begin their search for the pirate ring, she marveled at the billions of stars within her field of vision. This was the real reason she enlisted at eighteen. A chance to see the galaxy, the sense of awe of being surrounded by little blips of light from thousands, to millions, of light years away. It made one feel small, in the most enormous way possible.

The vessel lurched as the docking tube attached to the airlock, and she turned to ready her armor. You could never be too careful on stations this far out, especially with supply lines cutoff and little hope of swift backup **.**


	9. Bad Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iras is sent on her mission, leaving James to the mercy of her replacement as his teacher. During what was supposed to be a simple, run of the mill kick-the-bad-guys-out mission, soon turns out to be so much more--and possibly more than anything the Alliance is prepared for.

**Chapter nine:**

**Bad Ideas**

 

 

Space stations this far into Deep Space were always hit and miss. Either they ran like tight military ships, with dozens of Alliance war vessels at their docks, or they were cesspits of the worst kind. Calypso Station existed as the epitome of the latter. With merchants having dug in their heels during the war, and with most of the military now focusing on rebuilding colonies, and helping pick up the pieces of what remained of the human race, stations like Calypso often fell by the wayside. There was little wonder, to Iras, why the place fell to the seedier underbelly of the galaxy.

The once pristine, maintained hallways of the station were now littered with bodies, either dead or dying of drink and drugs. The air was thick and putrid, and smelled like something had died near the ventilation shafts from the main environmental core. Even the people, who either once served in the Alliance and couldn’t handle the fatigues of war, or those who despised the order that the military brought with it, milled about like mindless dolts, listless and without cause. When the ship docked, and her crew stepped onto the station for the first time, she’d nearly turned back around and left. Who could possibly live here? The squalor… it was worse than Omega.

“This is a supply line location?”

Iras didn’t acknowledge the low, awed whisper of one of her squad mates. She thought the exact thing, however. With all the traffic of the Alliance cruisers on their way to colonies and broken Relays, one would think the station would be in better, more inviting shape. Iras looked around, and was thankful for her order for the crew to wear armor when aboard. Every person that wasn’t dead drunk, or clearly a hooker on the prowl, also wore their gear, and their guns in plain sight.

“This just made our job more difficult,” Iras commented. She’d hoped, against her better judgment, that the pirates and their operatives would be easy to spot among the denizens of the station. But, seeing that nearly everyone was armed to the teeth, and ready to defend themselves or attack someone else, she realized her mistake.

Eyes turned towards the crew as they made their way off the docking port.

“Remember your covers. Clemens, I want access to those security cameras, ASAP. Jones, I want you and Marcus down in the lower wards checking out the merchants, butter them up, see if they have any black market dealings that can lead us to the ring. Athentia and I will head the local bars. We meet back on the ship in twelve hours,” Iras ordered. They walked through the docking port, passing the narrowed eyes of drug dealers, the hissing of vorcha, and the grumbling of more than a few krogan.

“Greetings, travelers. What brings you to the station?”

The squad stopped, and was forced to take in the form of an overdressed salarian. He wrung his hands in front of him, and the communicator in his ear was too large for his fallow cheeks.

The mission report said nothing of this…

Iras crossed her arms, falling into the old character she played while on Illium. These kind of places, you had to act like you would sooner shoot someone, than talk with them. Too open of a demeanor was a sign that you were up to something. You had to act like you possessed a secret, or a dark side, so closely you wanted no one near you.

“The ships heat shielding took a hit coming off-world, we need it repaired before we can go anywhere else,” Iras pointed at the ship that bore them there. They’d made sure to scrape up the heat shielding just enough to look like it needed repairs, but not enough to actually pose a safety risk to them should they need to beat it to the nearest planet.

The salarian nodded, too quickly, like a small dog begging for a treat.

“Oh, yes, yes, we can fix that right up. Korinth will want to speak with you, of course. No-one comes and goes on the station without meeting with him first.”

“Korinth?” Iras asked, raising an eyebrow the best she could through her breather mask.

“Yes, yes, he’s the head of the local merchants on the station, runs this place with an iron fist.”

Iras scowled. Alliance personnel were supposed to be in control of the station still. Ever since the end of the war, command of the supply line’s second tier in this theater had been given over to one of the retired rear admirals. First thing on her list, Iras decided, was to find out what happened to Admiral Fousek.

But, she took the bait.

“Where is this Korinth?”

“Oh, he’s in the bar on the fourth floor. Can’t miss him. Biggest krogan there.”

Krogan. It just had to be a krogan. Iras could feel her back bunching up, the scar that set heavy there burning in remembrance of how it got there. The very first time she fought a krogan, he’d nearly killed her. She’d come in with her squad, when she didn’t even rank as an officer and was a lowly grunt, and was tossed around like a rag doll. Her armor had torn, and pierced into her back, narrowly missing her spine. She waved the salarian off after insisting that her crew on-ship could handle the repairs, but that they needed the supplies and time in dock to do it themselves. What should be a free dock now cost the Alliance for a weeks-worth of near extortion rate fees. Explaining that in the expense report was going to be fun.

The team went their separate ways, while she and Athentia made their way up towards the bars.

“So… you really going to go talk with that krogan?”

“Don’t really have a choice, do I? If I don’t, our already shaky cover will be blown wide open. Plus, I don’t ever want to be on the bad side of a krogan if I can help it,” Iras said.

Athentia nodded, and they split up at the third floor. Luckily, with the change of ownership of the station didn’t come with a change in layouts. The bars and entertainment sectors were still towards the middle of the station, and the apartments and office buildings towards the top of the large, spire like structure.

Calypso had been built just after First Contact. It possessed heavy armor shields, massive barrier generators, and had survived a full on blast by a Reaper during the war. The Left Wing still had the scars to prove it, but the station held its own until Shepard pulled the kill switch. To see a once powerful, upright bastion in the sector reduced to this, made Iras’ stomach churn.

“How long do you think it took for the place to get this bad?”

“Dunno. It’s only been seven months since the war ended. How the hell did this happen?”

The team’s idle chatter came over her comm unit. She resisted the urge to tell them to keep communication to a minimum, but refrained as the door to the elevator slid open.

The bar, if it could be called that, used to be where the movers and shakers of the station came to relax after a hard day of intersystem politics. Where order and refinery once ruled, there was now debauchery of a different sort. Woman and men dressed in nearly nothing, positioned throughout the room for either viewing, or private, pleasure were strewn across the back walls. The once pristine bar was now covered in what looked to be dried turian blood splatter, and had a few dings in it from angry krogan fists. It was dim, dingy, and even through her breather mask she could smell the same rot in the air as the rest of the station.

Sure enough, spotting Korinth was the easiest part of the whole mess. Korinth towered over any of his kind that Iras had ever seen, a freak of nature to her knowledge, and rivaled most turians she knew of in height. Though not as burly as the soldiers she’d served with back on Earth, he cut an imposing figure, and she didn’t miss the clear indication of a biotic pulse over his hand when his drink got too far away.

Great, she thought in exasperation. As if things weren’t bad enough, the head asshole had to be a damn battlemaster. Of all the things to run into, a dying breed of krogan just had to be the one. At this point, she’d take a genius vorcha with a penchant for scorched earth tactics over this.

The krogan’s bodyguards stopped her just short of reaching his corner of the bar. They gripped their guns tight, as if expecting her to try to get passed them to their boss, and the way the turian to her right looked at her said he wished she’d try.

“Here’s a new face,” a gravelly voice rumbled from around the guards.

Iras cocked her head at the guards, then at the man she’d come to see.

“I take it you’re the head honcho the salarian told me to come see?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Who’s asking?”

The guards tightened around their employer just a bit more, and Iras could sense the tension rising in the room. She glanced around, taking in the amount of people who also had holstered weapons. Should things turn ugly, she’d be at a severe disadvantage. Sweeping her eyes over the layout once more, and deciding that the reinforced sectional booth a few yards away would make good cover should she need it, she turned back to the task at hand.

“Name’s Bennet. My ship ran afoul some debris in atmosphere, and needs its heat shielding repaired. We just need a place to dock while my crew does the repair. I’ve paid your doorman,” she concluded. If there was one thing that despots understood best, it was money.

Korinth motioned, subtly, to his guards, and they backed off. He turned to Iras, and she got to see up-close just how large the alien was. He stood, and towered over her, his hump well armored, and his crest-plate a deep navy. His vibrant, near glowing blue eyes narrowed on her. She recognized that color well. Most who were exposed or used biotics for a long period of time suffered a kind of bleaching of their irises. One saw it most in asari, and though uncommon in krogan-even among battlemasters-and humans, it still existed as a known side effect. Four large scars, doubtless from the claws of another krogan, scraped his face, blunting off his nostrils, and disturbing the wrinkles of his face. He sat back, and regarded the human before him.

“You’re well-armed, and well armored. What is it you do?”

“I’m muscle for a shipping merchant.” Keep it simple, keep it safe, one of the first rules of deep undercover work she’d learned when she enlisted in the N7 program. She wondered, briefly, how soon and from who the new recruits would learn their espionage skills.

 The krogan narrowed his eyes at her.

She’d opted to not use her Fury armor, it was too noticeable and identifiable since the end of the war. Most who’d encountered Fury’s on the battlefield now knew what they looked like, what they could do, and that they were Alliance property. She couldn’t have her cover blown for such a simple mistake. Instead, she wore her former hodgepodge of parts she’d acquired during her time on Ilium, with some upgrades of course. He looked her over, and Iras mentally reassured herself that nothing on her person could make her.

“What kind of merchant?”

“Does it matter?”

“Perhaps. After all, what kind of hired muscle are you that you left your employer to get your ship repaired?”

“The kind that has other ships under her command, and that left those ships to guard the shipping lane,” Iras said. Hackett supplied a rough outline of what kind of backstory they’d been given, but during their approach to the station, she’d hammered out the finer details. Everything was handled, from the merchant’s name, his place of residence, his area of expertise, even his hiring of their squad after a rogue faction of Blue Suns attacked his caravan to a colony after the war. She heard the whirling of an omni-tool next to her ear.

“Only two merchants fit the profile, boss. A human and a volus.”

“So, do you work for the volus, or for your own kind?”

“You’re starting to piss me off,” Iras drawled. She shot a look at the guard who was running an extranet search just next to her.

Korinth grumbled, but then a smirk pulled at his wrinkled, reptilian lips.

“I like you, human. Not many of your kind dare to speak to me that way.”

“Most of my kind of blithering weaklings,” Iras offered, though a small twinge hit her stomach. No matter how many missions she went on that had her badmouth her own species, she didn’t really stomach it well.

“True, true, though your Shepard is a fine example of human capability.”

Iras merely nodded in return. Korinth motioned her to take a seat at the bar, shifting over a seat so he couldn’t crowd her out. His smooth personality was unarming. Most krogan she encountered were brash, coarse, and edgy enough to make her wary of them. Korinth, though, was relaxed, careful with his words, and the glint in his eye marked an intelligence she wasn’t sure she could take on head to head. She licked her lips, but sat down next to him.

“Well, since your kind is so capable, you’ll be more than able to take a shot of Ryncol.”

Iras resisted the grimace at the mention of the liquor. The bartender slapped the glass down, and began pouring out the bright green liquid. Her stomach churned, and even before it was pushed towards her, she could taste the acrid burn it would bring.

She pulled her helmet off, the seal releasing with a loud hiss, and set it on the stool next to her. She felt the heavy stare of her companion on her, demanding she take the shot, and she felt like this was some unspoken rite of passage in order to get into his good graces. She felt that, if she said no, if she refused the shot, or didn’t survive the upcoming hell that the liquor had on humans, that her cover would be blown, and her crew would be chased off the station. Iras swigged the shot back, and instantly, her world became sharp corners, loud noises, and bristles on her taste buds. Her tongue burned, and it seared at every inch of her mouth worse than any old time mouthwash she’d encountered. Wincing, she tried to stop the watering of her eyes, but to no avail. Instead, it made it worse, and she gritted her teeth to try to stop her stomach from roiling at the liquid's contact.

“Not bad!”

“What…” Iras cleared her throat, her voice breaking against the building saliva, her body trying to wash the offending sensation away. “What proof was that?” she rasped.

“Only the best 200 proof from the best distillery on Tuchanka. The fact that you haven’t vomited yet is impressive.”

“I would probably wait to say that,” Iras gurgled. A shot of pure Ryncol? Fuck… she hadn’t had that shit since her hazing when first accepted into Delta.

 

* * *

 

 

Athentia was waiting for Iras when she made her way, staggering just a bit, from the bar. She managed to not pass out from the now two shots of Ryncol, and copious amounts of an odd red drink she didn’t want to know the name of, but now the world was tilting just a bit. The asari raised a nonexistent eyebrow at her acting commander.

“Drinking on the job, Bennet? That’s loose, even for you.”

“Had to,” Iras groaned. She passed her helmet to Athentia as the two made their way to the waiting elevators. The cold air of the station, which once felt oppressive and humid with waste and stench, now felt fantastic against her overheated skin. Her mouth still tasted like fire. She rubbed her eyes with the pads of her fingers, trying to avoid the metal edges of her armor. “Damn krogan made me. I had a feeling if I didn’t, we’d be screwed.”

Athentia waited until the elevator binged, and they were well within its walls, before she said, “We might be either way.”

Iras leaned against the wall behind her, and watched the vanguard pull up her omni-tool.

“Did you learn why the Alliance doesn’t control this station anymore?” Athentia asked, her eyes locking with Iras’ hazy ones.

The adept frowned. “Vaguely. Korinth implied that the Admiral ran off, that he was chased away by some crime syndicate that’d formed right under his nose.” During her time in the bar, Korinth proved to be a much harder nut to crack than she’d bargained for. He led her in circles, and though she sometimes pressed for answers, she didn’t want to expose her intentions. Instead, when he’d dropped the subject for the second time, she’d been forced to do the same.

The retired Admiral had been given a position on the board of the station, in order to keep it in check while the supply lines were set up for the recovery effort. For the first four months, things went well. As with on Earth, the races seemed to want to coexist, and for the most part they had. But, old wounds fester as they always do, and those with an axe to grind against humans, or even just because they were greedy and a weak galaxy meant a chance to strike, began to amass in the corners of the station. Korinth hadn’t come into the picture until after the syndicate took over the place, kicked the Admiral and board out-she couldn’t gather if he still lived or not-and he came in with credits and resources the crime family needed.

Athentia nodded to herself before she brought up a video of a clearly beaten salarian.

Iras arched her brows at the asari. “Really?”

“Hey, he wasn’t talking, and he clearly knew something.”

“There are better ways than beating him to a pulp.”

“That’s not a pulp, that’s mild bruising, like a lightly squeezed fruit,” Athentia said, a sardonic grin pulling at her features. “Anyway,” she flicked through the screens, until the video began to play.

The salarian slid himself to a sitting position, blood dribbling down the side of his face. A familiar pulse of blue crossed the screen, letting Iras know that Athentia had given the informant ample warning.

“All right, all right! I’ll tell you! Geez. They’re going to kill me, you know. They’ll find my eggs, my family, hell, they might even find my families breeding records. You might as well kill me, yourself!”

“Not my line of work anymore.”

“Anymore?” Iras shot Athentia a judgmental look.

“Like you didn’t know.”

“Fine, fine. Korinth has some serious dirt on the head of the Razors, it’s the only reason why he runs shit and not them. I don’t know what it is, but it’s enough to give him full access to the whole station.” The salarian flopped his hands into his lap, and Iras noticed the way his right eye was turning a different color around its large, outer iris.

“That’s your info?” Another pulse of blue filtered over the screen of the vid, and Iras resisted smirking at the way the salarian reeled, skittering back against the wall.

“No, no! He keeps whatever it is in some safe in his apartment on the fiftieth floor! There’re rumors floating around that he has information that the Razors helped the Reapers during the war, and are trying to get some of the Reaper tech up and running again.” The salarian flung his hands in front of his face, and Iras noted his beat up digits. The way his clothing was torn denoted more than a mere light bruising. She’d have to talk to Athentia about her methods, and how the Alliance operated, when they were off duty.

Iras’ blood ran cold at mention of the Reapers. Though more than slightly drunk, she felt herself sobering far faster than was natural. The once tipping of the station, now became solid earth, and the hum that had been her blood buzzing in her ears was replaced by the mechanical workings of the elevator. Athentia paused the vid.

“Reaper tech? I thought we were done with that shit when the war ended. And the council races are supposed to have all the tech from cleanup.” Iras’ voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes wide with both awe and terror.

“Well, evidently there was a Reaper on some random planet, scouting, when the wave hit it. The Council hasn’t had a chance to find it yet, and the Razors got to it first.” Athentia’s features were grave, and if Iras’ eyes weren’t deceiving her, some of her purple-tinged blue washed out to a near ashen azure.

“But that blast wave rendered them inert, they’re dead,” Iras insisted, her jaw smarting from clenching her teeth so hard.

“Maybe,” Athentia said, as she powered down her omni-tool. Iras swore under her breath and hailed the rest of the squad. She’d spent four hours trying to get any information she could from Korinth, and she usually preferred to keep radio silence while out in the field, but this required immediate touching on with the others.

“Marcus, you got those security cameras?”

The elevator beeped, and they were let out onto the markets floor. She pushed her way through the throng, sorely missing her helmets filter, but too dizzy to place it back on. The eyes of the markets didn’t faze her, the only thing her mind focused on was the news that her squad mate had levelled her with.

“Yes, ma’am! We got all zones right now, but the engine rooms. We should have those within the hour.”

“Change of plans, meet back at the ship. Secure the connection, and get your asses there, now. This mission just got a whole lot more complicated.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Admiral Hackett is on the hail, ma’am!” the Flight Lieutenant for the vessel carting her to and fro for this mission informed Iras. She leaned over the command station, stared down at the galaxy map, and let the transmission through.

Hackett’s imposing form shimmered in front of her. When the war ended, most modern warships were equipped with FTL communication arrays, similar to those found on the Normandy while Shepard was busy playing politician. Though not as advanced, or powerful, as the one on the first-rate frigate, the image of Hackett, and his orders, could still be heard and seen in near real time.

“This had better be important, Bennet. Do you know what time it is here?” Hackett asked. Iras noted that his uniform, usually so crisp and well looked after, appeared a bit rumpled. She realized, without surprise or remorse, that she’d woken the Admiral. She hadn’t thought to check what time it was Earthside. She didn’t think she needed to with news like this.

Iras shook her head, saluted her superior, and fell into an uneasy at ease stance.

“No, sir, I called as soon as I got on the ship… Sorry to wake you,” she admitted.

Hackett rubbed the bridge of his nose, a sigh of fatigue lifting from his chest. She recognized the dark circles of sleepless nights under his eyes, a sight she’d been well acquainted with during her time in Delta, right before the War began.

“It’s fine if you have something that needs my immediate attention.”

Iras, bolstered by his reassurance, puffed out her chest, and fumbled with just how to say her findings. When she stammered a few times, and furrowed her brows in concentration, Hackett arched an eyebrow at her, waiting. Finally, she scowled, her scar pulling heavy at her lips.

“It’s come to my attention that the former Admiral of the station has been chased off by a local crime syndicate. This group, called the Razors, invaded four months ago from the lower levels, the markets, and lifted the Board off of the station. The Board’s current whereabouts are unknown. From there, a krogan battlemaster muscled his way into control of the station,” Iras watched Hackett’s eyes slit at her.

“You woke me for a status report, Lieutenant?” annoyance, and a hint of disappointment, laced his tone.

“No, sir,” she breathed. She swallowed, hard, and she could see Hackett’s face somber as her own paled. She felt the blood rush from her head, and though she became light-headed at the news she was about to impart, she soldiered on. “It’s come to my attention that Korinth has information. This information implies that the Razors have found Reaper Tech on a defunct, former colony world that the Council and the Alliance had yet to find. They are… they’re trying to do something with it, sir.”

Hackett’s face became sharp, no longer lax from sleep. He pulled at the edges of his jacket, his lips now a firm, taught, white line. His blue eyes swung back on her, though their expression was far off, and speculative.

“Do you have a hardcopy of this information, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“Not yet, sir. It’s my next action. I wanted your permission to initiate the raid, and inform you of the potential implications of it.”

“Do you have the manpower?” Hackett ran his thumb over his chin. Iras could nearly hear the gears churning in his head.

Iras nodded, gripping her hands into her wrists tightly behind her back. She’d been skeptical of Caleb’s insistence of having someone as heavily armored as Marcus on squad, but now she saw the wisdom in his ideas.

“Yes, I believe so. I’ve assembled a good team, sir, we should be able to attain the target.”

“Good, you have my permission to launch the raid. But,” Iras paused in picking up the data pad next to her, “you look like you want to ask me something.”

Iras hesitated. She set the pad back-down, and wrung her hands in front of her.

“What could they possibly want the tech for? The Reapers are inert, right? They’re dead,” Iras said. Those who were scattered around the communicator all started and looked in her direction, as if they hadn’t heard the entirety of the conversation. The helmsman, her flight lieutenant for the mission, even turned a bit. All their expressions were the same. Horror at the mere idea that the Reapers could be reactivated, turned back on like some common computer.

“I don’t know, and it’s better not to discuss the implications over this channel.”

She recognized the code Hackett used. That meant, ‘not around your subordinates,’ and she supposed she agreed with him. With the Reapers and their atrocities still so fresh in everyone’s minds, it was best not to bring up the possibility of a rogue group of criminals trying to glean information, and potentially power up, a section of their technology. She made a mental note to address the issue further, privately, with the Admiral.

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that all, Lieutenant? As much as I enjoy our conversations, I’d like to go back to bed.”

Iras scoffed, smirked, and nodded. Hackett’s image skewed, shimmered, and then died out from before her. She sighed, and made her way down the steps of the CIC. Sometimes, she wished other warships in the Alliance had Normandy’s layout. As it was, the CIC was a massive room, filled with people and their display screens, and far too close to the Flight Lieutenant for her liking. There was no way to have a private conversation with Hackett this far away, and she had a feeling that he withheld something very important during their conversation.

Iras made her way to the crew quarters, where he squad waited anxiously to hear the word.

 

* * *

 

 

Inaction was a killer for James. Without the constant grind of Hell, and with the knowledge that Garrus left in a week to be with Shepard again, his mind was left to wander. It crept down pathways it didn’t dare venture down in months, sometimes even years. Cobwebs of memories long since forgotten, or damped down, or ones he’d tried to cover over with bravado and insolence, came bubbling to the surface. In the dark of night, in his new dorm room that he shared with Tanaka, he was left alone to the mercy of his subconscious.

Even his dreams left James reeling. Flashes of biotic blue, of his father hopped up on Red Sand, shouting, yelling, sometimes beating, a much younger James danced before his eyes before he’d start awake. Ever since the night on Omega, sleep became a commodity that was in short supply to the soldier. The heaviness of knowing that London still laid in rubble, and that California, his home, was still in utter shambles, made his insides knot and twist. The days spent here, idling, learning, and fighting to become a better person and soldier, made James feel like a traitor. Even with the kind, if not demanding, words of Shepard didn’t put an end to the nagging in his stomach, or the voice hissing at him in his brain.

James turned over in his bed, avoiding looking at the clock to his right. The beds in the new dorm rooms were much softer than the ones in the N1 barracks. Their frames weren’t made of sharp corners and dangerous metal, but of sturdy, rounded, and comfort driven materials. His bed no longer felt like it was made from the crushed souls of all that came before him, lumpy and disorganized, but of something more like actual springs and breathable material. Even the sheets no longer felt like a thousand little sandpapery legs scratching at him whenever he tossed and turned. With only Tanaka in the room with him, though, James felt a bit lonely. Even in the shuttle bay on the Normandy, he’d had others that slept down there with him, those who preferred to be close to the exits and weapons in case anything should happen. Here, he had room to stretch his legs, to settle his stuff, and to make a home out of his living quarters.

James had a vague idea that it was early in the morning. Probably around two or three, if the light pouring in through the window above them was any indication. Tanaka wanted to close the blinds, complaining that he needed utter darkness in order to sleep, but James insisted on keeping them open. With how dark the room got, it reminded him too much of that night on the Normandy, as they hurtled towards Earth, and towards near certain death. Even now, in the comfort of moonlight, with a faint Brazilian wind causing the massive tree outside of the barracks to thump against the wall, all James could hear or see were the hum of Normandy’s engines, and the walls of its shuttle bay.

The recruits weren’t allowed out of the barracks after midnight. Curfew was enforced with a vengeance at the academy, and though James didn’t wish to wake Tanaka, he threw his sheet off anyway, and sat on the edge of his bed. His heart hammered, and the same unsettled feeling he got most nights settled like a sour stone in his stomach.

He needed his sleep. With Iras gone, his instructor for anti-biotic warfare was non-other than Caleb, and he worked James into the ground every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On days where he wasn’t getting his ass handed to him for eight hours straight, he was enrolled in advanced war tactic classes, where he learned histories of war, strategies, and the biological makeup of all alien life they had thus encountered. James’ brain during the week was so full of that he often had little time to think his own thoughts before being quizzed on something he’d learned.

He almost didn’t have the time to notice that Iras had been gone for two weeks.

James hadn’t seen her for a day, and thought that she’d gone off on some random assignment, and that she’d return within the week in order to start him on his training. He thought that she would be an easier coach than Caleb. But, after three days passed with no sign of her presence, and being told she was on a mission he didn’t get to know anything about, he dropped any hope of seeing the biotic until she returned and found him herself. He felt her loss most during the time he and Tanaka went to the bar or rec room to relax after training. Where before he could count on her to give him a hard time, to ride him, and encourage him, to keep going, now he was met with Tanaka occasionally stating how lucky James was for having Caleb as a tutor, and the chatter of the barkeep.

Since she left, he had time to think about what happened on Omega. The memory burned in his mind, and every time he revisited it, he felt the same rush. She’d put her arms around his neck, she let him kiss her, and even returned it almost as feverishly as he dished it out. James was confident that, if he hadn’t stopped himself, he would have gone off to either her cabin, or a seedy motel before returning to the ship. In his drunken haze, she felt good. Though made of pure muscle, with no soft curve than the swell of her hip and chest, she molded to his body when he pushed her to the wall. The fact that he recalled all this with such clarity, and that it made arousal sear at his skin, made him concerned.

She wasn’t his type, at all. Usually, James liked girls with curves, with large chests and nice asses. Iras had a chest, that much he was certain, her Fury armor showed it, but it was much smaller than even Kasumi’s. He liked longer hair, the kind that brushed against a girl’s shoulder blades when it was down, and he preferred brunettes—it’s what he grew up around, after all. Iras had collarbone length hair, at best, and was a definite blonde. Added to that, that the adept wasn’t exactly classically attractive, and James was bemused by his abrupt fascination.

It couldn’t happen again.

The small sting of arousal from thinking of the kiss, again, had made him half hard. He glared down at his crotch, as if it’d betrayed him with what he already knew. He glanced from Tanaka, to the door, and wondered if he could manage to sneak out without waking the kid. Idly, he brushed the back of his knuckles against his quickening erection, and felt a small thrill run up his spine.

Yep, the kiss definitely couldn’t happen again.

 

* * *

 

 

“Clemens, get those fucking turrets hacked! I need them down two minutes ago!” Iras shouted. She flinched behind her cover, a shot chipping a chunk out of the crate she hid behind. She shot a look at Athentia, and the two biotics nodded.

Iras ducked from cover, and set a heavy Pull onto two of the men closet to the squad. They were sent flying in a loud, bright blue explosion when Athentia threw a Throw right at them. Their teammates around them were sent stumbling to the ground, and for a brief moment, the squad had time to breathe. Clemens worked quickly, his omni glowing in the limited light of the shot-out office. The two turrets he worked on sat perched in two of the main windows overlooking a local star cluster, and they all had their beams focused where the squad was located.

Korinth had been expecting them. Over the last week, she and her squad had been out and about in the markets, and she didn’t know when, or from whom, he’d caught wise to them, but he beefed security upon his office. Her last excursion into the markets had been under the guise of looking for new heat piping for the eezo core of the ship, saying that theirs was running a bit clunky. While there, she overheard talk of two dealers she suspected to be connected to the syndicate that the krogan held by the balls. Korinth heard of a group of Alliance marines that’d come to sweep out his office, and run the syndicate off the station. Given that both of these were true, Iras’ plans moved up by quite a few days.

In the ride up to the office, she’d broken her team up into two. One would stop the floor under the office, and make their way through the ductwork, reaching the security clusters just under the main vault, and disable the power. Iras’ group, which had Athentia, Marcus, and Clemens in it, were the Shock group. They’d go in, guns blazing, and distract the hired thugs Korinth acquired to give the other team more time.

There was more opposition than Iras had planned for. She owed Caleb a drink when they returned home.

“Intruder detected,” a mechanical voice echoed, even through the volley of shots being fired.

“Clemens, we got battle mechs!” Iras shouted, even as she popped a look over her cover. Sure enough, a small squad, six at least, of security mechs were headed their way. She managed to bolt back under the crate’s cover to avoid the sea of bullets aimed at her from the turrets.

“I just need a few more seconds! Keep them off me!” the Engineer cried.

Iras sighed, heavily, and shot a look to Athentia.

“You got this!” she shouted back, even as the adept felt anxiety begin to build in her throat. With no other option open to them, and with so many barreling down on their position, she closed her eyes, and pushed her hands together in front of her chest. The dark energy around her began to seethe and shimmer, focusing around her body in a small dome. She pulled it tighter, and tighter, forcing the holes in the field closed, and feeling the shocks of energy against her armor.

When she felt she couldn’t bring it any closer, that the holes were finished, and that she was holding it too tightly and she’d lose the field, she threw her arms out, and the field rebounded. It shot out to a radius of nearly fifteen yards around her and the squad. All enemy forces that she could feel out became primed, their bodies stuttering with the same biotic glow that pulsed over her body. She glanced to Athentia, who was already dashing in a streak towards the enemy.

The asari commando pulled her hands back, and with rapid succession, sent out as many throws as her cooldowns could permit. With the Annihilation Field up, Iras had to concentrate, and could only offer a few pot shots in return. The air rung with explosions, and the same metallic smell that always came with biotic explosions filled her breathing mask.

“Got the turrets!”

“About fucking time. Open fire!” Iras shouted.

The hacked turrets, now glowing a defiant orange with their new overrides, turned their attention to Korinth’s men. They scattered from behind the couches and overturned metal desks they’d sought shelter in, leaving them wide open. Athentia met one head on, her shotgun pulled from her side, and sent the soldier flying back, a gaping hole in his armor and his chest.

She lowered her Field, and noted that three mechs were still advancing, stepping over the mangled bodies of their fallen fellows. Iras chanced coming out of cover, and hit the furthest machine with a heavy Singularity. It pulled the three into its field, and lifted them off the ground. But, with such a heavy draw from her implant, and chip, she had to wait through her cool down to hit them with a Warp. The Singularity almost died out before the cool down passed, and with a shout, she hit the core of the attack, and sent the mechs flying.

“Awe team, are you in position? What’s the status on the security cluster?” Iras puffed as she rushed forward, taking shelter behind a retaining wall.

“Working on it, Lieutenant. We’ve got a few more firewalls. The things locked down tight, but we should be good in five or so minutes!”

Iras rolled a shoulder, and spotted Athentia dashing back to cover. A shot had managed to pierce her armor, and asari blood dribbled down the side of her right arm.

“How’re your shields?” Iras shouted over the renewed stream of gunfire. Reinforcements had arrived from deeper within the office, from the door that lead away from the receiving room they were bunkered down in. Ten more men surged through the door, and even with the cover fire from the turrets, she felt the strain of only four people against such a large group.

“Down. I need time for regen,” Athentia called.

“Marcus, you’re up!” Iras ordered.

Marcus nodded and stood. Though the enemy opened fire upon him, his shields were the strongest of the group, and his heavy armor protected him much more than the other three’s ever could. He pulled a grenade out, flicked the switch, and sent it spinning towards the center of the enemy. It exploded with a loud boom, and sent shrapnel flying in all directions. More than one enemy soldier was sent tumbling from cover, either on fire from the sudden burst, or bleeding from the shards of metal that cut through their armor like butter. Iras opened fire, nailing the one closest to her straight in the head, while Clemens managed to snipe the other in the neck.

With three of the ten that’d come in like the cavalry down, Iras took a shaking breath in. She nodded to Marcus, and powered up what she could of her amp. She’d been using her biotics nearly nonstop for twenty minutes, and her amp was starting to whine. But, she had to buy the Awe team more time.

Marcus sprinted forward, taking cover behind a heavy desk. The turrets just above him died in a fiery aftermath, having overloaded their own cores at prolonged security malfunctions. Iras powered up a charge and dashed forward. She never got tired of how the world slowed down during the sprint. With dark energy supplying the charge, the world became like big brushstrokes of glowing azure. Every other motion than she slowed to a mere fraction of its former hurried pace. The rush that flowed through her body was intoxicating. Even the abrupt stop, after all that speedy, the kind that rocked her body and sent out a tiny shockwave around her, came as a welcome burst of adrenaline through her veins.

Iras had just enough time to Stasis one soldier that came up on her right, avoiding the laser sight he’d trained on her chest. She flung out a hand, and sent a Shockwave in front of her, staggering two mercs that had been running at her from their cover. Once exposed, Marcus let loose a wave of shotgun fire on them, splitting their armor, and bodies, open with a sickening thunk. Iras winced when her shields took a sniper rifle at point blank range, but she hissed under her breath, and when her cool down allowed it, and right before the sniper had time to reload-those weapons always were slow and with terrible capacity-she sent him floating into the air with a quick Lift.

A biotic throw from where Athentia was still waiting on her shields to recover sent the man bouncing from the ceiling, and then onto the floor, his suit cracking and his head rebounding in a way that was not natural.

“Krogan incoming!” Clemens called over the communicator.

Korinth came out of the office himself, decked in full krogan heavy armor, and with an M-300 Claymore at the ready.

Iras swore under her breath, her amp too overheated to facilitate a charge to safety.

 

* * *

 

 

James back arched as he was slammed into the padded ground of the training facility. The sting and prickle of biotic energy dissipated from around his body, but he could still feel the twisting of his stomach from being thrown off his feet for a good ten yards. He berated himself for falling for the same trick, again, and rolled over onto his hands and knees. Though the practice armor protected his bones from breaks, and his ligaments from sprains, he felt the hit throughout his body. He’d be sore in the evening… again…

“You know better than to try to take me on like that without using warp rounds first, Vega. You have to neutralize my fields, and disrupt my amp before you can attempt an attack like that.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t got a gun with me,” James complained. He came to a staggering standing, patted himself off, and lolled his neck from side to side.

Caleb frowned at James. “You’re lucky I’m not Bennet. She’d have sent you flying just for sassing her.”

This was the fourth time this week that Caleb had made such a remark. Iras had been gone for longer than even he expected, and it showed in how often he mentioned the adept. James resisted rolling his eyes, he didn’t want to tempt fate with the N6. He hit like a mule, and the last thing he needed was to be Slammed against the ceiling, then floor, again that day. He didn’t think he’d be able to keep his lunch down if he did.

“Yeah, about her, she’s coming back, right?” As much as James enjoyed Caleb’s company, he felt that the vanguard would rather spend his evenings drinking with Tanaka alone, than with James in tow.

Caleb flexed his fingers, an obvious sign that James wasn’t going to hear anything. The man had obvious tells, despite his calm, nearly emotionless exterior. The little things, like flexing his fingers, furrowing his right brow more than his left, or running his hand through his hair, were signs of inner turmoil, or of annoyance, James still couldn’t tell which.

“As far as I’m aware, yes. Now, get back into position.”

“What, no break?”

“I can break your arm if you’d prefer.”

“Fine, fine,” James sighed, and walked back across the room to his starting point.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras gagged when she slammed into the ground. She hit so hard, she bounced, and on the second landing, her helmet emitted a loud crack in the back. Shit, she thought, even as she tried to roll over, and away, from the advancing Korinth. Marcus had been knocked down and out almost within the first few seconds of the krogan’s attack, being sent hurtling into a wall with a Throw, the strength of which she’d only seen from a matriarch asari. Clemens was taking as many pot shots, and letting out as many Overloads on the battlemaster’s armor as he could, but it didn’t stop Korinth from marching over to where he’d thrown her, and picking her up by the neck.

“I should have known. The only humans I’ve ever truly gotten along with, come from your Alliance. Your biotics need work, human,” he growled at her. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

He sent her flying backwards, only to catch her with another Slam, sending her high into the air, and her stomach sank when she started hurtling towards the ground at speeds she knew were going to smart when she landed. However, his attack was interrupted, when she felt herself snatched from the air just as she was about to meet the ground full force. Athentia tumbled her out of her grasp, and before Iras could protest, since her shields hadn’t fully regenerated, she rushed forward, a Warp already flying from her hands.

Her warp was met with one of Korinth’s own, and the two met in an explosion of biotic power. Iras managed to stand, if not shakily, just in time to see him send the asari skidding back, a dent in her shoulder armor.

“We need to double-team him.”

“No shit,” Iras drawled.

“How’s Awe team doing?”

“They’re in the safe. They met with some resistance a minute or so ago, but they cleared the area.”

“Then big ugly here is the only thing standing between us and getting the fuck off this station,” Athentia said, a sardonic grin plastering her face.

“Flank?” Iras offered.

“Better than nothing.”

“Clemens! Overload him on my order,” Iras ordered. The two biotics ran at the krogan, but then diverted, and came at him from both sides. Just as they were coming out of their Charges, and the world came back into normal speed, and a krogan fist was coming right at Iras’ helmet, she shouted, “Now!”

An electric shock overloaded the krogan’s shields, and when Iras let loose a Pull, Athentia flung her Throw, and Korinth had his turn to be sent soaring into the air with a biotic burst. Before he could land, and before he could come back at them, a loud blast filled the room, and the krogan’s head shattered into innumerable, fleshy, gory pieces.

Marcus staggered towards them, his shotgun barrel smoking. He had blood oozing from a cut where his visor shattered, and he held his stomach, in a way, that disconcerted his commanding officer. She glanced from Korinth, to Marcus, and back.

“Clemens, make sure he’s dead. Marcus,” Iras turned to the soldier. She patted him on the back, as gently as she could, given her own shaky standing. “Good work.”

“Damn right,” Marcus rasped, his eyes lighting up with a smirk that his mask hid from her sight.

Iras turned to the office, and motioned the team to follow her. With Korinth gone, if there were any mercenaries left they’d be easy to pick off, or persuade to leave. After all, a dead client meant no money, and no money meant no reason to lay your life on the line.

The main office was larger than she expected. She supposed it needed to be in order to house a krogan of Korinth’s former size, but it was bigger than her dorm back at the academy. With a massive desk in the middle, and bookshelves lining the walls, she fanned the team out looking for the vault door. There were holes in the shelving, where pictures of the former Admiral once hung, and she wondered how much familial things the man had before he’d been kicked off. She also wondered if she’d find information on the survival, or death, of the Board of the station.

She ignored the pang in her ankle and poked around the bookcase behind the desk. She didn’t understand bookcases in a world where books seldom existed anymore. Fredrick purchased some when they got married, a gift, he’d said, to himself. The smell she liked, she’d admit. Old books smelled faintly of vanilla and some other musty scent that was pleasing, but, why waste all that paper in this day and age? Digital was how the galaxy worked, and though you could store data pads on bookshelves, you often only needed a handful to run an office. Korinth’s office, however, was lined with books.

You didn’t run into an intellectual krogan often. Or, maybe they were the Admiral’s former books?

“Found something!” Iras heard one of the bookcases hiss, then recede, slide to the side, and reveal a massive, heavy, thick safe. The power-grid was down, but now they were faced with another problem.

“Retinal display?” Clemens asked as he poked around at the machine.

“Your turn, Athentia.”

“Damn it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Iras stood in Hackett’s office, draped in the chair across from him, with her fingers tented under her nose. Her arms were bandaged up from the fight that ensued clearing out the markets of the remaining Razors that hadn’t been hired to keep Korinth’s office secured, and she had a violent bruise eclipsing her throat from the krogan manhandling her. She stared at Hackett, as he stared at the data pad, her mind a muddled mess. She’d gone over the information on that pad at least ten times while they were on their return voyage to Earth. With Korinth gone, and the brute force of the Razors killed, their presence all but vanished when Alliance forces took the station back just a few days prior, the pirating ring was broken up, and her mission had ended. But, the end had implications for a beginning neither of them enjoyed.

Hackett drew a long, deep inhale, before setting the pad down. He ran his fingers over his upper lip, as if the act of scrubbing it would enable him to give voice to the thoughts she saw racing in his eyes.

“This isn’t good,” he started.

Iras stayed quiet, willing to let the Admiral collect his thoughts. The Razors were trying to build weapons based on Reaper technology, but given the advanced nature of the technology they worked with, they had no idea what they were messing with. Currently, they had their hands on a Destroyer class Reaper, and were experimenting with ways to power on sectors that contained its weaponry, in order to understand its functions.

Hackett scrubbed his scar and sighed.

“Just when we think we’ve moved beyond the damn things…” he breathed.

“Can they do that?” she asked, her eyes narrowed in thought.

He sat back in his chair and looked out onto the academy. They’d worked so hard to rebuild everything, to get this institute up and running again, and Iras could see the small glimmer of a thought of it being futile. His silence alarmed her.

“Possibly,” he concluded, after what felt like an eternity. “The Reapers are just machines, after all. If a computer fries, if enough of the hardware is intact, it’s possible to repair it to where it runs again.”

“But, what about their sentience?” Iras asked, unsure. If… if these idiots managed to power a reaper backup, to bring it back to life, would it still have its sentience? Would waking it up just bring them back? What happened if you powered just one up? Would it somehow restart all the others that were floating around, unchecked, in the galaxy?

“I don’t know. What makes an AI different from a VI? Our VI’s didn’t go down when the wave killed the AI’s… This is a murky issue, and more philosophical than I would like.”

Iras wanted to apologize, for some insane reason. Her mission had brought this to the forefront. If she hadn’t gone, if she hadn’t uncovered this… maybe… What? Maybe it wouldn’t have happened? Out of sight out of mind? No. The galaxy didn’t work that way. They would just be ignorant of it all, and then when, if, the Reapers came back, they’d be caught unaware, and then they truly would be screwed.

Iras sat up a bit, cringing at the twinge it sent up her side. The medic said she didn’t break a rib, but it sure felt like it.

“What do we do?”

Hackett’s face darkened, and he turned to look back at the academy again.

“I’m not sure. We don’t know where the facility that they’re working on this thing is. Until we know its location, we can’t do a damn thing, but pray they fail.”

Iras didn’t like the response, but she knew he was right. Until they knew where the mercenary band was located, they couldn’t stop them. But the idea of inaction, of doing nothing, made her stomach sour.

“You should get back to it, Bennet. I’ve heard that Suttikal has just about killed your student,” Hackett said, his tone indicating he was done with the topic. Iras stood, saluted the Admiral, and made her way out of the room, unsure of just how to ‘get back to it.’ How does one just go back to normal life after hearing something this world shattering?

She’d made her way into the gardens, and was starting to admire the sight of the setting Brazilian sun, when she heard her name called out, sharply. She paused, and turned in time to see James standing there with his hands in his pockets, brows raised, as if surprised to see her returned. Then again, she’d been gone for almost three weeks. Even in a program filled with active duty soldiers, that was a long time to be gone on a specific assignment not related to the program. His surprise shouldn’t have come as anything more than a natural reaction.

She glanced from the barracks, where her bones ached to lay down and sleep for about a week straight, to him, and was in the process of deciding whether to go over to speak to him or not, when his expression made her mind up for her. She waited for him to walk over, too tired to be bothered to do anything unless it absolutely required her doing so.

“Hey, long time no see. I was starting to think you weren’t coming back,” James commented. Iras noticed that his hair had been freshly buzzed on the sides, and that with it shorter, the dark brown now looked to have some hint of auburn buried in its depths. Or, it was the sun playing tricks on her tired eyes. She would accept either at this point.

“Yeah, the mission went on longer than expected,” she said. She watched him take in her injured state, a small wince crossing his face. She smirked despite herself. “You should see the other guys.”

“Remind me not to fuck with you.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” she joked. “Though, I’d have thought going against me in your test would have drilled that into your thick skull?”

“You look like shit. What, did you go twelve rounds with a krogan?”

“Something like that,” Iras said, a pained smile ghosting her features. She didn’t want to repeat the process, ever. She hated fighting krogan.

James whistled, long and low, and looked her over again, a glimmer of respect flashing over his face. “Seriously? Damn, chica, you came okay then. Yeah, never fucking with you.”

“Good,” Iras chuckled.

The air suddenly became tense, and Iras watched a cascade of emotions flash over her friend's face. The longer it went on, the more on edge she became.

“You got something to say, War Hero?” she goaded.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” gone was the mocking, carefree tone. She straightened her posture, though it made her back creak, and she waited. He ruffled his fauxhawk, and snorted, before saying, “Look, about what happened on Omega…”

Iras raised an eyebrow.

“What, you regret it?” She couldn’t blame him if he did. For all his flirting and blustering, James Vega seemed to be a very serious person. He put his all into something, a hundred percent, and never did things half-assed. Something like what happened on Omega might be out of character for the marine.

“What? No, no,” James waved his hands in front of him, as if doing so would dispel the idea from the air around them. “I just don’t want to muddy things up around here, you know?”

She felt he was holding back on her. That there was more to this than he would be willing to say right now, but, she didn’t push her luck.

“Okay, I get it,” she commented.

“Good,” James’ face lit up, as if he’d been expecting her to verbally berate him for wanting to back off the sudden and abrupt fire they’d ignited. She couldn’t blame him. He did, though, stand back and take her in again. “Though, I gotta say, you pull off the whole ‘nearly lost a prize fight’ look pretty well. Looking good.”

Iras snorted and pushed on James’ shoulder. “Watch it, or I’ll make you look like this after our first training round.”

“Hey, if it means filling out an uniform like you do, kick my ass any day.”

Iras rolled her eyes. “What happened to not muddying things ups, Vega?”

James shrugged, and pretended to act innocent. “Nothing wrong with a little flirting. It’s just my way.”

“Yeah, well, you’re way seems to get you into some trouble.”

 


	10. That went well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months after the information of possible groups creating weapons from a reaper carcass, James has progressed in the academy, Tanaka is bonding with Caleb, and everything seems to be going well. Though, the night on Omega still gnaws at James' brain, so what happens when he and Iras get close-truly close-for the first time since then? Will he still try to keep the waters clear? Or is he more open to muddy than he thought he was?

**Chapter Ten:**

**That went well**

 

Garrus left the Academy a few weeks after Iras’ return. Though sad to see the turian leave, James had cause to look forward to the upcoming months that stretched before him. He’d been given missions to run in unstable sections of the theater, where he needed to take squads of his own and get the job done. With his step up came the return of many of the N7’s from nearby clusters. The Mass Relays in heavily populated areas, such as the Sol System, and Thessia, were repaired far faster than most others. Shepard was due to be released to her apartment within a few months, having passed the critical recovery stages, and in no small part thanks to Hackett’s pressuring on the doctors. All in all, the next five months flew by for the marine.

And, like he’d promised, James hadn’t muddied the waters any further between him and Iras Bennet. Though often tempted, either when drinking or when prompted by an odd sting of an irrational emotion when spying her with Caleb, he hadn’t kissed her since their time on Omega. Though, there was still shameless flirting. With James, there would always be shameless flirting, and he knew that Iras liked it that way. She gave as good as she got.

One thing he hadn’t gotten used to, and he supposed he never would, was training with Iras. More often than he’d like to admit, James was sent flying into the air, or across the room, or stumbling around thanks to a mild shockwave. Though he’d gotten better at disrupting biotic attacks before they came at him, and recognizing when to duck, roll, of just brace himself, she still managed to level him whenever she pleased. With the test for the N3 coming up at an undisclosed time, his inability to subdue a biotic of Iras’ or Caleb’s caliber, weighed heavy on his mind.

Well, that and the fact that he was currently face down in the matt’s of the training room, his body exhausted, and unable to muster a way to get around a singularity when in close range. Iras thumped the floor, trying to break his reverie.

“C’mon, Vega, get up. Round two.”

“Round eighteen,” he corrected, as much as he was loathed to. Today’s training focused on singularities and how soldiers of his class could avoid them stripping his shields. So far, he learned that Singularities always had that fucking roaring sound that reverberated in his helmet, and that his mouth always tasted like salt after being caught by one.

“The floor can’t possibly be that interesting,” Iras said.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” James hauled himself up to his hands and knees, and watched as she padded over towards him. She wore her Fury under-suite on days where she knew that he wouldn’t be able to touch her. Days like today, where he just pretty much flailed around until she called the training off, or moved on to a different area where he actually improved.

“So tempted. You left yourself wide open with that,” Iras commented. She offered him a hand. One of the first things he learned about Iras being his instructor, when not running missions for Hackett, was that, unlike Caleb, she wasn’t above doing underhanded moves to teach him to always be on guard.

James avoided her hand like the plague and stood up. She pretended to be incensed by his action, her eyebrows raised and opening her mouth as if to berate him. When he didn’t fall for it, she waved him off towards his starting position.

“You’re no fun, now. I liked it when we just started working together. Throwing you the first time, your face,” Iras said, even as she motioned him to brace. “You used to be so naïve.”

James wasn’t going to take the bait. Iras did this thing, often, where she’d distract him in order to catch him off guard and toss him around like a ragdoll. The second thing he learned while being her student was that every move she made while in this gym was calculated. He swallowed, and waited, in a slight hunched position and his jaw firm.

When it became obvious to her that he wasn’t interested in her games, she shrugged, and the familiar blue aura began to glow around her. James liked what biotics did to the persons's eyes. They made them glow an almost silver, and made them look ethereal. In the asari, it made them look like goddesses out of some fantasy fairytale. In humans, the effect was somewhat the same. James remembered when his father first flashed his powers in front of him, when he was five and had done something wrong not long after his mother’s death. He felt like his father had turned into an angel of death, and that this was how he would die, at the hands of some sparking energy. Instead, James learned as he got older, that the powers came with a drawback.

Not only did human biotics need implants in order to control their abilities, they needed amps in order to focus them, amplify them, to make them anywhere near what other races could do. The amps and implants, though, required cool downs. With beginning biotics, these cool downs could last full hours, and as the biotic progressed, as they upgraded their amps and became more proficient at controlling the dark energy around them, the time between uses decreased. Though, one could only improve so much. He’d seen it time and time again in his service. Where a biotic could be on the fast track to improving, there was only so much they could do. There was a glass ceiling, no matter how much they worked at it. Not everyone was a Shepard, or an Alenko, or a Jack—very few had that sort of raw power that could be harnessed.

Iras, James knew, fell victim to it as well. She straddled the line between a vanguard and an adept. She was gifted in certain areas, and restricted in others, and it came across in how weak some of her powers were—powers that hadn’t improved, he’d heard.

“All right, Vega, ready?”

James nodded. Her eyes flashed, and she threw her hand out before him. A singularity erupted right before him, first exploding outwards, then pulling itself smaller and smaller until James couldn’t see the core. All that he could see was the dark energy swirling around it. What he could feel, though, was his feet slipping on the floor, and he watched the purple of his shielding start to be sucked into the mini-black hole, and stripped from his armor.

“Remember, you have a small envelope of opportunity to get away from it. Find it, War Hero!” Iras barked at him.

James tried. He tried to twist his way to the right, as if moving to the side would somehow break the miniature accretion disk that he knew existed in his area. Instead, all he managed to do was to make his mass more accessible, to allow the disk to grab him better at this thinner angle, and he was lifted into the air.

“And, wrong,” Iras sighed from across the room. “You can’t just muscle your way out of it, James!”

“Yeah, well, my muscles are at least reliable!”

Iras’ eyebrow twitched, and she sat back on her hips. He flipped in the air as the Singularity began to pull him around its orbit. One thing James never got used to was the buzz, the small sizzle of electricity that went over his skin whenever he was in the midst of concentrated dark energy. He knew like everyone did in this day and age, that dark energy and dark matter existed all around them, but feeling it against his skin always caught him unaware. It was like a thousand little ants, shocking him with their legs, as they crawled all over him—and the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Not this shit again,” he heard Iras mutter.

The Singularity died out, and James was dropped to the floor. He pulled himself up to a standing and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know it’s true! What happens when your barriers are down, and you’re in a cool down? Adepts and Vanguards aren’t trained to go head-to-head with brute force. You’re better at middle and long range attacks.”

“I seem to remember you getting to see my training during your first day here, Vega,” Iras reminded him, her eyes narrowing.

Shit, James thought, his mouth drying. Iras had this look about her when he’d crossed the line—and he had, often, over the last couple of months. Her jaw would tense up, and a line would form on her jawline right where it met her ears. Her eyes would narrow just a bit, and cold fury would make those grey eyes sharp as steel. James had, presently, crossed that line. He tried to backpedaled, put his hands up in front of himself, and a sardonic smile passing his lips in an attempt to appease her.

“I know, I know! You’re damn good, Bennet.”

“But?” Iras demanded. The put her hands on her hips and fell into a stance reminiscent of how Shepard often stood in the shuttle before a mission. Was there some secret handbook on how to look intimidating, powerful, and hot all the same time out there that women like Shepard, Jack, and Iras got to read? He tried to not stare at how the position curved her lithe body, even through her armor.

James felt backed into a corner. He glanced to the door and back to his teacher. She wouldn’t be dissuaded. She knew he hadn’t addressed all of what he thought on the matter. His damn mouth always got him in trouble.

“But… your training focuses on speed and flexibility, to avoid the enemy’s attack. You don’t hit as hard as me.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Iras said. “I’m a marine, though, same as you, James. I’m trained in ways to defend myself, up close and personal. Or,” she cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, “do you need a demonstration?”

This, however, caught James’ attention. He licked his lips and tried to rein in his common sense. After all, they were supposed to be training him to be better able to fight against other biotics whenever the mission threw him against them. Their diverging into hand-to-hand combat wouldn’t do him any good. The familiar burn from the first day he arrived, of wanting to test his mantle against the woman before him, surged up in his stomach. Caution lost to bravado, and James couldn’t the bounce he did in anticipation.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“You asked for it, Vega.”

“Sure I did. It totally isn’t your wounded pride. Oh, but, no biotics. Make it a fair fight,” James added. She pursed her lips at him, before shrugging.

“Deal. What do I get if I win, other than an apology?”

“What, we betting now?”

“Like we weren’t before?” Iras asked. She cracked her knuckles and motioned him over to her side of the training hall. Stubborn to a fault, James thought.

James scoffed and shrugged. “I guess not. I dunno, what do you want?”

“You mean besides your sweet ass?” Iras teased.

“You’re not going to make me blush, Bennet. Besides, that means if I won, I’d get to slap that piece of art you got there,” James whistled, low, as she popped a hip to the side. She looked at her rear as best she could, arching an eyebrow.

“I do have a nice ass, don’t I?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Careful, Vega, you’ll get my hopes up,” Iras jeered. She flexed her fingers and waited for him to state his stakes in the fight.

“All right…” James thought, long and hard over what he wanted out of the fight. If he won, he didn’t want something as meaningless as money. After all, being on Shepard’s crew paid very well after the end of the war—not only was a promotion in the works, but he’d been given an impressive stipend, and a monthly deposit for as long as he lived for his involvement. He also didn’t want anything she owned, because he didn’t know what she had. Even during their friendship, though she’d dropped by to say ‘hey’ to him and Tanaka, he’d never been allowed up to her quarters. He thumbed his lower lip, until the idea occurred to him.

“I want you to answer some questions, honestly, and without giving me run-around.”

Iras blinked at him, as if unbelieving the simplicity of his bet. Then her eyes darkened a bit, and her jaw firmed. If one thing could be said for Iras Bennet, it was that she was an intensely private person. During his six months at the academy, the only things he truly knew about her were that she had a serious attitude problem when it came to anything to do with biotics in society, that she’d had a six-month period of solitary for unknown reasons just after the Attack on the Citadel and that the scar on her face came from a turian trying to claw her face off during a shootout.

“Okay… the lamest spoils I’ve ever heard of. What are we, in summer camp?”

“What, you think you’ll lose?” James goaded.

“In your dreams. Fine, if I win you buy drinks for the next month.” Iras also was a creature of simple means and tastes. She didn’t spend much of her substantial pay from the war, or from being an instructor and N5, and what she did was often on the most expensive liquor that James’ had ever heard of. Knowing just how much her favorite Scotch cost, and how much of it she liked to drink whenever she dipped into it, made James pause. That would take a big chunk out of his monthly accounts. She smirked at him, her scar wrinkling. “What, think you’ll lose, War Hero?”

“Yeah, right. I ain’t gonna let an adept beat me in a brawl.”

“Promises, promises,” Iras said.

James and Iras settled into circling one another. Though not as hard as the training ring in the D-Wing, the room would prove ample enough space for the two to spar. They were two trained marine’s, after all, such a small ring would have been too restrictive for James to avoid Iras’ close range throws, and too small for Iras to be able to dodge James’ up-close combat style. He’d seen Conrad take a thrashing, and he knew better than to make the first move with someone like her. Instead, he contented himself with watching her intently. Every twitch of her shoulder, every narrowing of her eyes, was a signal to James that she expected him, at any time, to come at her.

The first move made during a match almost always came from the person who gave into the pressure of the fight first. The boiling of his blood, the pounding in his ears, and the sharpening of his eyesight, all egged him on, all urged him to lurch at Iras and get the tension over with. But, he refused to be Conrad. He refused to have himself flat on the floor, with Iras’ knee to his throat, no matter how sexy he thought the view would be. They continued to circle, and it felt like an eternity before a sneer crossed her face.

“What’s the matter, Vega? Afraid to dance?”

“I’m not making the first move,” James affirmed.

Her brows knitted, and before he could really react, she lashed out at him, and took his contemplation of the matter out of his hands. She struck him, open palmed, against his solar plexus, hard enough to make him nearly double over. James gasped, a surge of nausea rushing over his body, and he had to wring his brain to focus his hands enough to grab her elbow just as she was pulling away. He twisted her arm and she let out a sharp cry. He pulled the arm behind her and attempted to throw her to the ground, when her eyes flashed at him. She swept her left leg down, risking dislocating her arm in their current position, and kicked him hard in the ankle.

His leg buckled on the sudden onslaught, and it was enough leverage for Iras to twist back around and free herself. James had just enough time to place his arms in front of his face as her fist came towards his jaw. She met his arms, and he felt the force of the punch resound through his muscle and skin like an earthquake. She hit harder than he thought she would. Maybe he really had pissed her off.

He ducked around the next punch she sent towards the top of his head, thrusting out his arms and opening up her defenses. He swept the leg that had been lame on the ground under her, and though he wanted to try to pin her again, she caught herself just as she hit the mat and sprung backwards. She flipped away from him and landed with a thud a few feet away, patting at the area he’d kicked her.

She shook her hands by her sides, and she bounced in anticipation of his next attack. There was a small smirk on her lips, and the way her whole body seemed to buzz even from where James stood made her look totally alive. His chest still surging with the urge to beat her, and to pin her to the ground, he half circled her, licking at his lips. She watched him, patiently, though the way her shoulders were tightening up told of her anxiousness to continue. It’d been a long time since either of them had sparred just for sparring’s sake, and not for training. It felt good. Like when a child was allowed outside, not for P.E. but for the pure joy of running and playing.

James arced a kick towards her side, and though she caught it in time, he managed to land a punch right against cheek. She grunted as she stumbled back, and for a moment James worried he’d hit her too hard. But, the way she looked up at him, how her brows furrowed, and a quick, ropey smile creased her face, made him think maybe he hadn’t hit hard enough. He couldn’t put his arms up fast enough, and she managed to smack him upside the neck with a chopping motion. His vision blurred for a moment, and he wondered why his left shoulder suddenly felt abruptly cold.

She twisted away from him, somehow managing to sidestep him, and kicked the back of his knee. He crumbled forward despite himself and managed to throw an arm out to avoid being sprawled on the ground. He reached behind to grab her arm just as she was about to chop him on the back of the neck, and managed to lock his grip around her midsection. With a great heave, he threw her over his shoulder, and onto the mat in front of him. James attempted to bring his fist down onto her stomach, not hard enough to cause damage, but enough to keep her fucking still, when her legs wrapped around his torso. She twisted, using her arms against the mat as a focal point, and managed to bring him down with her. Iras held her position on his chest, as she, too, tried to punch him, this time in the face.

James gripped both of her arms and surged upward. Though Iras was fast, like fucking lightning, he had her beat when it came to raw power. Even with her position, he managed to switch their positions, with his legs pinning her arms, and one fist thudding next to her head on the ground.

A lazy grin spread over James’ face.

“And match.”

“Like hell it is!”

“Try to get up. I’ll wait.”

“Fuck you,” Iras spat. She twisted her legs and torso this way and that, but James’ superior weight had her pinned entirely. He watched the rush of emotions play over her face, and for the first time in months he felt the same urge as on Omega gnaw at his stomach. When she finally calmed down, out of breath, with her hair sprawled out around her on the ground and her face flush from exertion, she rolled her eyes.

“You look good under me,” James said. Her cheeks heated a bright red, either in indignation or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell, but she thumped her head against the ground.

“Fine, you win, now get off. You’re heavy,” she complained.

James hesitated. She radiated heat against him, and he thanked his lucky stars they wore armor today, as he felt a familiar heaviness start to pool between his legs. He swallowed, and rolled himself off of her, telling himself that he still didn’t want to muddy the waters. He was so close to N3, the test was in a few weeks, and he couldn’t afford to fuck it up now. Still, with the way she rolled onto her side, idly running a hand over her hip where he’d managed to graze her with a potshot, he found it hard to concentrate on anything other than them being alone in the room, and on the ground together.

“You’re fucking fast,” James managed. He forced his brain to stop wondering just how flexible the adept was.

Iras rolled a shoulder as she pulled herself up to a cross-legged sitting position.

“Yeah, well, adepts have to be faster. We don’t hit as hard as you guys, so we have to compensate,” Iras said. She sat back on her hands and cocked a head at James. “Well?”

“Well what?” he asked. A small panic settled in the back of his brain. Had she noticed him staring? Was she expecting him to do something?

“Aren’t you going to start the interrogation?”

“Oh, right,” James cleared his throat. Of course, she hadn’t noticed. The second James’ had mentioned not repeating what happened on Omega, she respected his wishes and dropped any pretense they’d been building. Instead, they flirted on empty promises, knowing full well neither would fulfil their ‘threats.’

He raked his brain for the information he wanted to know. Iras existed as a blank book in his mind. He knew her name, rank, service record, and that was it. Everything personal had been erased carefully, and lovingly, by the woman before him.

“Okay…” he started and sat forward. “You speak French, right? How?”

“That’s a boring question,” Iras said.

“Fine, want me to ask what color your underwear is?”

“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” She pulled a hair-tie from some hiding pocket behind her and began the quick process of pulling her hair back. When she finished, she shrugged. “My mom was French. She met my dad when she enrolled in the Alliance, right after she turned eighteen. My dad’s American, so I grew up speaking English, but my mother taught me French when I got into Junior High. Sometimes I accidently slip into French when I’m… overwhelmed.”

Like when he’d just about pounced on her on Omega.

James respected multilingual upbringings. It reminded him of his own family, and how his childhood was smattered with both English and Spanish. He situated himself against the wall behind him, and mused about broaching the one subject not even Berkley knew about.

“Would you stab me if I ask about why you were in Solitary?”

Iras scowled at him. She jutted her lower jaw out, and seemed to think long and hard on the matter. When it felt like minutes dragged by, James held up his hands, and was about to say she didn’t need to, when Iras let out a heavy sigh. She scrubbed her forehead with her fingers, and said, “I was married once.”

James bit his tongue to keep from retorting back that a lot of people in the service were married, but that didn’t get them thrown in the brig.

“We were married a while, for around five years. Well, right after the Battle of the Citadel, Hackett came to me with information… Fredrick defected to Cerberus a while back, he didn’t say how long ago, but long enough that it made me question our marriage,” Iras paused, and James could hear the anger starting to rise in her voice. She raked her teeth over her lower lip, before continuing. “I… confronted him when I shouldn’t have. He nearly killed me, and he managed to get away. I went against orders to not confront him, to not let him know the Alliance knew what he’d been doing. After I recovered enough, they put me in Solitary for defying orders and allowing a Cerberus agent to get away.”

“Why’d you get so angry?” James asked before he could control himself.

She shot him a dirty look, one that made his insides shrivel.

“I don’t like this game, Vega.”

James stared harder than he needed to at Iras. At that moment, she looked tired, as if all the retelling of old stories made her physically exhausted. He looked down at his hands. “Sorry. Want to stop?” He expected her to get up, to walk off, and he wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“Just change the topic,” she said.

“Okay.” So he did.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras slammed into the ground, her entire body bouncing like a fleshy ball. She curled onto her side, trying to hide the weeping wound from her hip to her ribcage as it dribbled red into her lightly armored clothing. The floor felt colder than it should, and idly she was aware that spots were starting to form in front of her eyes. The glass under her from their smashed coffee table prickled against her already abused skin while she tried to power up her amp. It sputtered, hissed, and warned her that it still was in cool down.

Fuck! She hissed under her breath when Fredrick’s boots started coming towards her. She could hear her own fragmented, raspy breathing, and it felt like she’d broken some of her ribs. He’d thrown her from near the kitchen to the sunken in living-room by the patio. She glanced towards the door but knew that, at this height, and in her shape, running off the porch held no escape.

“Benny…” Fredrick’s voice cooed. He crouched down to her, his features, once a mask of abject fury, now relaxed and showing some semblance of affection and remorse. He reached out to touch her battered face, to wipe away some of the blood oozing from her nose and down her lips, but she smacked his hand away the best she could in her weakened condition. He still had his sword in his hand, but his grip was loose, like holding it was an afterthought.

“Don’t… don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that,” she hissed.

“What, but your alcoholic father gets to?” rage flashed in his eyes, cold, unadulterated, and she braced herself for another kick. When the kick didn’t come, she tried her best to relax, but stayed huddled in her ball.

Iras struggled to raise herself off the glass, but only managed to slick her hand on the blood that had coated her hand. “Don’t talk about him, you son of a bitch.”

“Benny, I’m sorry. I-I panicked,” she tensed when Fredrick’s hand fell on her back. She expected the burn of dark energy on her skin, or the sear of his sword on her back, but neither came. She flinched away from him, curling up tighter, and watching him in wild distrust. A manic grin crossed his face, and he tried to appear less menacing than how he loomed over her.

Iras didn’t respond. She panicked all the time. It came with the job description. You could only be out on a mission with low odds so many times without having a panic attack in the field. But, panicking didn’t mean you got to beat someone to a bloody mess—someone you’re supposedly married to.

Fredrick’s omni-tool glimmered before her, and she felt a sudden rush of relief. With a dim realization that he’d applied medi-gel to her and that wherever he’d applied it to was numb from their fight, she glared at him as he sat back. He opened his free hand to her, even while the other still gripped his sword.

“Benny, come with me. Cerberus, they’re looking out for us, for the little guys. They know what’s best for humanity.”

Blind, hot rage filled her body. If she had been able to, she would have grabbed the bastard’s throat and slammed him into the ground, torn out his larynx, and watched him spurt his life across the kitchen. Instead, she counted the beeps of her amp, waiting, as her husband tried to make his case.

“Cerberus has its best interest in mine, Nagase,” she spat. “Or did you forget what they did to Ian?”

“Project Trapdoor had to be done. What if the asari decided that humans were pushovers? What if they became like the turians?”

“Do you even hear what you’re saying?” Iras asked. She managed to slide her arm under her, and struggled to keep a hand on the wound to her side. She was losing blood at an alarming rate. She didn’t have much time to finish this, or be finished. “The asari are the most peaceful race in the galaxy. They’ve tried to broker peace between the turians and krogan, for fuck’s sake!”

“Maybe it’s all an act.”

“You’re delusional…”

“And you’re naïve,” Fredrick concluded. He stood up.

A faint click in Iras’ armor made her eyes widen, and a surge of relief wash over her. Just as Fredrick twirled his sword in his fingers, stating it was “such a shame” that she wouldn’t see the light of Cerberus, she flung her hand out and sent him flying with all the remaining biotic power she had left. He smacked into the patio window, the glass shattering from around him. He hurtled over the edge of the porch, and out of sight.

 

* * *

 

 

The hum of the shuttle carting them to the landing zone vibrated in Iras’ chest. She sat across from James, Tanaka, and one of the newly returned N4 recruits from a month ago. Earlier that day, Hackett had called her over the General’s FTL communicator from the partially rebuilt deep space station Jump Horizon. According to new intelligence, they found a cache that the Blue Suns had begun to form right after the war, and had since grown into a full-blown center of operations. More importantly, there was some hints that the Suns had absorbed their new rival, the Razors, and this led to the possibility that the new base might have information regarding the location of the Destroyer that the group had been attempting to manufacture weapons from. The mission he gave to her was esteemed the highest importance, and she had to pick a team from the limited pool she’d been given. With such short notice, her former Delta team members were scattered to the four winds again, each on their own secret assignments, and the other N5-7’s were all busy with the new batch of recruits going through Hell.

Given the stats of James and Tanaka, they were a no-brainer. She needed a soldier, a strong one, on her side for when they entered the base, and Tanaka’s hacking abilities were now second to none on academy grounds. The newbie, though, she didn’t know what to make of her. She was a small, petite thing, with small features and an attractive face. More than once Iras saw James check her out, and despite herself, Iras felt a small stab of a dark emotion she refused to name.

Iras stood at the helm of the shuttle with the pilot, watching the base come into sight as they neared. The shuttle was retrofitted with a miniature version of Normandy’s stealth drive, and although they were nearly silent, she worried about the towers that lined the facility.

“How heavily fortified are they?” she asked, leaning on the pilots chair.

“Armed to the teeth, from the looks of it. They definitely got something they don’t want anyone else getting to.”

Iras frowned, and turned around to her team. They all shifted and turned to her, their eyes expectant.

“We get in, we get out. Try to keep a low profile, I don’t want the whole damn base on our asses, is that clear?” Iras barked.

“Yes, ma’am!”

“What’s the payload?” James asked.

Iras mulled over her response. Hackett gave her leeway to either tell the team, or not, but he was of the frame of mind that the fewer people that knew about what the Suns were up to, the better. Figuring that she would only tell them if they found anything, and willing to deal with repercussions should that happen, she cleared her throat.

“Supposed payload. We’ve been tracking a crate of weaponry that the Suns are a little too eager to keep hidden. We believe the crate is on-planet, and on this base, but we won’t know until we’re in there.”

“And if the payload isn’t there?” Tanaka asked his brows furrowing.

“We have information that points to this base funneling funds and resources to pirates attempting to disrupt Alliance supply lines. If the payload isn’t present, we neutralize the base.”

The shuttle began its descent, the engines at the front and back letting out puffs of energy as it kept itself level. When it landed, the door to the landing zone opened, and the team was greeted with a horizon filled with hills, cliffs, red clay, and rocks. Iras motioned the team through as they situated their weaponry and began to go over the terrain maps. James was the last one through, and he stopped to smirk at Iras.

“You look good in actual armor.”

With the amount of fire the team was going to take, she made a decision that hindered her biotics, but gave her more support. She wore her armor from the Calypso mission. She crossed her arms under her chest and sat back on her hips.

“Flirting on the battlefield, Vega?”

“Hey, just saying you fill that thing out quite nicely,” James shrugged. Iras rolled her eyes and pushed him through the door. With him out, she pulled her assault rifle from her back, and pounded on the pilot’s barrier that separated him from the back passengers. She hopped off the vessel just as it began to pull back up into the air, coming to stand with her team in a small, secluded area just three miles off from the base.

This wouldn’t mark the first time they served together on a mission, but it was the first in which she got to pick James to come along. Before, she’d been part of a sweeper team that had James in its grunt section, where they were dropped off on a colony world that had reports of varren and vorcha activity threatening to take out the newly re-established colony. She now saw why Shepard kept him on her crew. The man was one of the most reliable soldiers Iras had ever seen, and he could think on his feet faster than most his age and experience level. So, when Hackett came to her with a pool this time, and she saw James’ ID and profile, she wasted little time in selecting him.

Iras signaled the team to start moving forward, going around the side of the base where the layout indicated there was an entrance to the basement not too far off.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, there wasn’t any indication that the reaper technology had ever been there?”

Iras shook her head. She had a large bruise running down her side, and other than a few scrapes and burns her team made it out with no casualties. The flickering image of Hackett frowned.

“This is bad. The longer they have that carcass, the more likely they are to figure out how to make weapons from it, or worse.”

“Agreed, sir,” Iras said. She clasped her hands behind her back, and tried to not pay attention to the General to her right. The more often that Hackett used his office for debriefings, the more irritated and red he turned when the time came. Right now, he looked like a tomato.

“I’ll get my team back on this. This takes first priority until we find the location of their labs. Did your squad suspect anything?”

Iras hesitated. Truthfully, James’ concern over the payload when they got into the basement and saw nothing set some alarms going off in her brain. The man was smarter than she gave him credit for, much sharper than she thought even Caleb accredited, and she couldn’t lie to him for much longer. But, if she told Hackett that James might be on to the mission’s covert nature, she worried that James might be brought into the loop. The man had enough trouble sleeping, the last thing she needed was giving him even more to think about during the midnight hours—she already had enough sleeplessness to make up for the whole Academy.

“No, sir,” she decided.

“Good. Keep it that way. Good work neutralizing that base, Lieutenant. We didn’t get the goods, but we crippled the Suns in that sector. Hackett out.”

 

* * *

 

 

James liked the small hours of the morning. With Tanaka knocked out, and the rest of the barracks quiet except the occasional cry from off in the distance, James could regain himself and try to steady his mind. Though often kept up for unsavory reasons, the latest being continual flashbacks triggered by the last mission of being barreled down on by the reaper on Rannoch, he enjoyed sitting in the stillness and listening to his own breathing. Though not allowed to outside of the barracks at this time of night, they were allowed down in the lobbies that smattered the upper floors, and James found the main one to be the most relaxing. It was dotted with overstuffed, comfortable chairs and sofas. Several large coffee tables were laid out to give the marines something to put their stuff on, and to spread out. A few televisions were scattered along the walls, but until recently they’d remained off and dark because of a lack of stations. James chose to situate himself on one of the largest couches in the far corner, just beside the elevator to the higher floors, and stare out of the main glass doors into the Academy beyond.

It was times like this that James couldn’t believe he was here. Sure, he managed to get information on the Collectors, destroy one of their massive bases, and even save some of the structural integrity of the other colonies on Fehl Prime, but… he saw it as part of the job. He did what he did in order to stop the Collectors from continuing to abduct colonists. And, in the end, it didn’t matter because Shepard took care of that for him—like she always did. He couldn’t believe he sat in the same lobby that Shepard probably had, drank from the same waters, and walked the same halls. When held up to the ghost of his Commander, James didn’t think he measured up.

But, then again, who did measure up when it came to Shepard? She saved the Citadel against Sovereign, then destroyed the Collectors against all odds, and then purged the Universe of the Reapers. No one held a candle to her. He supposed, knowing this, he needed to stop trying to hold himself up against the impossible standards that his mentor set.

James had just settled further into the couch, attempting to meditate as Liara had shown him to clear his mind of all preoccupations, when the elevator dinged. The sound echoed like a drum in the quietude of the lobby, and James nearly hurt himself by bolting straight up. The life of a soldier was filled with expecting the unexpected, and though the academy was considered a safe zone, and no one would dare try to go against all the best of the best the Alliance had to offer, his senses trained on the door as if a full battalion was going to come charging out at him. Instead, when the doors slid open, he spotted the familiar flash of dark blond hair, and the loose stance of someone trained extensively in evasion tactic. Iras scratched the back of her neck, where James before spotted her implant scar, and yawned.

“Knuckles?” James couldn’t resist. When he broke the calm she jumped, and wheeled on him, her body quickly coated in a writhing blue light. She blinked at him, then powered down, running a hand over her forehead.

“James.” The croakiness of interrupted sleep gripped her voice, and concern welled within him. He shifted, and motioned her over to join him. She hesitated, looked around, and when she decided the lobby was empty enough for her to feel comfortable, she padded her way over to him. She didn’t wear any footwear, and James could sympathise with that. Whenever he had flare-ups, like tonight, he loved the cold feeling of the stone floor under him. Anything that contrasted enough to snap his mind out of the feedback loop of the images that ran through his head were a god-send.

She plopped next to him, the couch providing them enough room to not be on top of one another, but close enough that it provided some intimacy. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

James nodded, and looked her over. She wore loose fitting, baggy plaid pajama pants, and an extra-large shirt that hung from her body like a tent. When he felt, and saw, her eyes ghost over his chest, he remembered that he neglected to put a shirt on when he left his dorm. He sat only in his bed pants, and nothing else. Iras’ eyes paused on his tattoos, and a small smile flickered across her pale face.

“I’ve never seen you down here, before, Vega. This your first time hitting up the lobby this late?”

It occurred to James, at that moment, that though he’d come here a few times before in the past few months, that the way Iras spoke meant she came there far more often than he did. Suddenly, she looked so small in those giant clothes.

“Nope. Haven’t been doing it often, though. I keep thinking the code enforcers are going to bust me.”

“Nah, as long as you don’t go outside they don’t give a flying fuck,” Iras yawned.

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience.”

Iras chuckled and drew her knees up under her chin. “How do you think I got my first dock during Hell?”

“Seriously?” Iras always seemed, to James, to be an upright, proper, rules are rules and are meant to be followed kind of soldier. The idea of her blatantly breaking regulations and going outside against curfew made him snort.

“Yep. It’s how I met my husband. Bastard caught me before I’d even taken five steps outside.”

The idea that Iras had been married before all of this baffled James. He didn’t know if it was because she looked to be only a little older than himself, or that the timeline that led up to the war was so crunched down, but it blew his mind that she’d been married that long. James toyed with the idea of asking just how they met, and when, but he saw how her face was tense, and her shoulders firm, so he decided against it.

“So… what’s keeping you awake?” James ventured.

Iras rested her head against the couch and smiled at him.

“What do you think?”

“Hey, we all got different triggers and scenarios.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she murmured. Before he could react, she extended her legs and burrowed her feet under his thigh. “They always keep this damn lobby so cold at night,” she explained. Her feet felt like ice.

A silence slipped between them and for once James didn’t feel the need to fill it with chatter. Instead, he leaned back and enjoyed the atmosphere. With her feet buried under his leg, now radiating warmth against him, and with her breathing evening out from the harried puffs it’d been when she first arrived, it felt comfortable to just sit and be. Where he’d been trying so hard to clear his mind, he now felt at peace with someone else next to him, fending off the dark from the lobby and from his mind.

When a good thirty minutes passed, Iras shifted, and poked at his chest. James turned to her with a mock look of indignation.

“What was that for, Knuckles?”

“Nice ink,” she scooted forward and placed a hand over his chest piece. Her eyes narrowed and he saw how she traced the line work as best she could in the limited light. “The line works really stellar, no blowouts at all. Who did it? Batarian?”

“Nah, not that one. The one on my back is. This one is by a guy that I’m pretty sure is dead, from California, where I grew up. I got it when I enlisted. Kind of an all-or-nothing symbol,” James resisted the urge to grab her hand as it traced along the knot work on the tribal. The heat of her hand against the chill of the air made his arms start to break out into goose bumps, and he felt a small shock of pleasure at her continued exploration.

He licked his lips when she stopped, as if realizing what she was doing, and pulled her hand away. Her grey eyes met his, and tension that hadn’t been there before began to coil tightly around them. She shifted, and James could see the faint hints of a blush over her cheeks, and she muttered a quick apology.

Before James could manage to rein in his body, before he could work out just what he was thinking, he sat forward, invading her space. One of his hands brushed against her cheek, hitting with the hot surface that only turned redder the closer he got, while the other came to the back of the couch to steady himself as he scooted closer. He watched the way her eyes darted to his lips, then to his eyes, and how her mouth opened and closed in small little puffs of confusion. God, why did she have to be so cute right now? If she were her normal self, if she mocked him for coming so close, if she threw him off the couch for letting his guard down, he could chalk up the new atmosphere between them as the consequence of inadequate sleep. But, instead, she gripped onto the bicep of the arm that cupped her face, and that action made his resolve snap.

He pressed his lips to hers, experimentally. He expected her to push him away, to tense up, to resist and destroy whatever this was. Instead, she allowed him to go even further, his mouth pressing to hers a little harder. When she, again, didn’t throttle him, he grew bolder, and parted her lips with his. It earned him a small, breathy noise from Iras, and any logical resistance his brain might have come up with to stop what they were doing fell away. 


	11. Fuck it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty chapter. Not going to lie. After James kisses Iras, the one thing he swore to himself he wouldn't do again, things get a bit heated. Is it worth a small bit of sanity in order to see his adept undone, and vulnerable? Yep, totally worth it. 
> 
> ALSO! Sorry for the Delay in posting. I had finals.

**Chapter Eleven:**

**Fuck it**

Unlike Omega, this time Iras was as sober as she’d ever been. That night, she woke not from the battle of London, but from a nightmare that all their struggle had been in vain. She dreamt that the Suns had managed to turn the Reaper corpse on, and that it had, somehow, managed to switch its kin back awake, and the Harvest began all over again—this time, with no safety net, with no crucible and no catalyst. So, when she came down to the lobby to cool off, and zone out, surprise had gripped her when James called out. She, now, was even more surprised that she didn’t want him to stop. When he smoothed his tongue over her lower lip, she granted him access with a small gasp.

His scent filled her senses again. That same musky, spicy smell, like she was awash in allspice and cayenne, which she’d been attempting to forget for four months. James said he didn’t want this to repeat itself, so she’d avoided reminiscing on that night, especially when sparring with the fellow marine. The hand that had been cupping her face now ran through her hair, tangling in the un-brushed strands, and trying to play it off when his hand got caught. She would have giggled at the comedic timing, but his tongue led her to distraction. God, she’d forgotten how good he was. He conquered her, but in a slow, methodical way that reminded her of his time on the battlefield.

Iras’ head swam when he bit on her lower lip, allowing her a moment to catch her breath, before pulling her back towards him, cautiously fisting some of her hair. The slow, careful testing of boundaries filled Iras with a kind of warm affection she hadn’t known she harbored. She didn’t have long to dwell on the sudden surge of unknown emotion before he was pulling on her arm, trying to situate her closer to him. He pulled away, puffed against her face as he tried to calm his breathing, and slid his hands down her sides.

“What happened to not muddying the waters…?” Iras asked, her voice unnecessarily low.

James’ eyes flared at her, as if her gentle mocking stoked the fire that kissing her had started. He raked his teeth over his lower lip, and filled Iras with a want for him to the do the same to her.

“Fuck the waters,” he determined. The way his voice rasped like silk on sandpaper made her shiver.

“I’m not sure the water would appreciate that.”

“Stop being a smartass for two seconds, and get back over here,” James growled. Her stomach lurched when his hands slipped under her rear. He hoisted her up from her position, causing her to yelp in surprise, and her arms to fly around his neck. He pulled her onto his lap, forcing her to straddle him lest she tumbled to the ground, and she felt his body heat bore into her. She expected him to be like on Omega, to charge in and start touching her everywhere, and in a way that’s what she wanted.

She wanted to forget Fredrick, the war, the Reapers, this latest shit with the Suns, she wanted to just not think for a couple of hours. She wanted to not think with James. Instead, he was methodical and calculating in how he touched her. Gone was harried frenzy from their drunken night before, and in its place was a firm determination. Iras gasped when he pushed his hands under her shirt and planted them firmly on her stomach. The sudden heat of his touch sent shudders through her body, and just like before, he burned at her skin like a furnace. He spread his legs out wider, forcing her to do the same to accommodate the change of position, and their hips settled against each other. She felt the heaviness of his arousal against her through their pants, and it made her core tug painfully.

James nibbled his way around her throat and neck, each bite met with the slow inching of his hands further and further up. When he reached her ribcage he paused, and a low panic settled into her chest. He traced a thumb over the scar that ran from her ribs to her hip in a diagonal, and as if mapping the texture of it. He pulled away from a would-be hickey, and pulled her shirt up to just over her breasts.

“That looks like it hurt,” James commented.

“It did,” she breathed. Every nerve was now awake, excited, and urging James to keep going. Instead, he traced the raised skin of her scar over and over, as if memorizing it. She let out a low, impatient noise, which demanded to be heard. He’d aroused her to the point that she almost shook for him to continue, and she was going to make damn sure he did. She pushed her hips down against his tented pants, and James’ hands flew to her hips, her shirt fluttering back down to cover both her scar, and her torso.

“Fuck!” he grimaced as she dragged her hips against him again. The way he panted, and how his half hooded eyes now slid open to track her movements, made the heat building in her grow stronger.

“Focus, James.”

“I got it, I got it,” he muttered. He stilled her hips with his grip, and snapped her back against his chest. He fisted the front of her shirt, and brought their lips crashing back together. Where the kiss before had been cautious, almost timid, this time it was blistering. He didn’t wait for permission, and instead took it, and where the kiss before had been slow, this one had a hunger to it that Iras felt seep into her. James’ hands slipped from her hips, to her rear, where he squeezed, and held her still against him.

Iras untangled one arm from around James’ neck, she couldn’t remember having put them there in the first place, to scrape her hand down James’ chest. She stopped at his tattoo, and like he’d done with her scar, she ran her palm over it, eliciting a pleased rumble from the marine. He let go of her ass and snaked his hand up her shirt until he hit the underside of her breast.

Suddenly, James pulled away and swore under his breath. He didn’t withdraw his hands, but instead advanced hid other palm up her shirt as well, bunching the fabric up around his wrists as he went.

“What?” Iras asked, aware that her cheeks and ears now burned red.

“Don’t have condoms,” James grumbled.

Iras started when his hands came and grasped her chest, her hips jolting from the sudden sensation of his callouses on her nipples. She could feel his eyes devouring what of her midsection he’d exposed, roving over every scar, every dip of muscle, every cut of bone, and her body shuddered at how his gaze burned. She gasped when he palmed at her breasts, trying to calm the raging arousal of her body.

James gave a frustrated grunt. His already plush lips were swollen from their kissing, and small red grooves were starting to appear where she had, against her knowledge, raked her nails down his collarbone. He surprised her when his eyes widened, and a lazy grin splayed across his face. One hand that’d been kneading at her chest began a slow, agonizing descent down her stomach, and it took only a few seconds for her to catch on. There were other ways for him to pleasure her than full on intercourse.

“Hold this,” James ordered, handing her the bottom of her shirt. Iras blinked a bit, then took the hem, and rested her hands just above her breasts. He approved of the new position, she saw it in the way he clenched his teeth and swallowed hard enough for her to see his Adam’s apple bob. He tore his gaze from her, and from the way she was smirking at him, to focus on dipping his hand under the waistband of her pants. Her smirk died away when he cupped the apex between her legs, and began to rub back and forth.

James hummed. “Didn’t realize you went commando, Bennet…”

“Only when I sleep, James,” Iras corrected, even as she spread her legs wider. He traced his free hand up her side, and she felt the callouses he’d earned in battle, and in the workshop and armor, catch on the sensitive skin.

Iras tensed when his finger passed her fold, and started to explore around. She saw the way his lips parted, and felt the way his erection throbbed at the new contact. The sight of his increasing arousal made her opening clench, and a shudder pass over her body. It could have, also, been from the fact that his middle finger found its way to the top of her slit, and gave an experimental push against the nub. Her hips jumped, and her whole body nearly bent over from the unexpected, and powerful, rush of pleasure it sent up her body. Though clearly enthralled by his touching her, he pushed himself forward and kissed at her neck, while his other hand pulled her pants down as far as they could with their position. Iras grabbed one of his shoulders to steady herself, the shirt now tenting in a violent ‘v’ around her torso. She dug her fingers into his skin, her eyes screwing shut at the new influx of feelings.

Sure, since Fredrick escaped she’d been with other men. Those were one night stands, however, that she didn’t know and hadn’t cared to know. This time, she allowed a man she knew and interacted with on nearly a daily basis to touch her. Just that step closer to familiarity brought bolts of pleasure she hadn’t felt in years. The knowledge of that intimacy made every touch seem amplified beyond measure, and when he suctioned onto the nape of her neck, she just about shook from the contact. The world didn’t exist outside of James’ hands, and what he was doing with his thumb on the small of her back. The world didn’t exist outside of the lobby, and how the once cold air felt too warm to keep her shirt on. She grinded against his palm, whining under her breath when he didn’t increase the speed of his attentions.

“James…” she hissed, bucking her hips against him, attempting to make him understand her need for him to go faster.

“Whoever’s on night duty must be getting a show in the camera room,” James observed, blithely, to try to ease the near suffocating presence around them. Iras leaned forward and rested her head against his shoulder when he finally pressed against her clit harder.

She swallowed, and tried to get her tongue to work. Her throat felt thick and swollen, and she was aware that over the last couple of minutes, minus breathing his name a few times, she’d been letting out the most embarrassing whines and moans she ever heard.

“There aren’t… any cameras that point at this couch,” Iras managed. She let go of her shirt entirely, and gripped onto his shoulders as the pressure in her core began to mount higher and higher. “They all focus on the entrance.”

James sunk his head into the nape of her neck.

“I told you to hold this,” James commented. His free hand now slid back under her shirt and quickly found its way to one of her breasts.

Iras wanted to respond, but couldn’t find the strength to do so. All she had the ability to voice was a low groan when he moved from her clit to delve, first one, then two fingers into her. God, his fingers were thick. She felt her near year of inexperience in how tight she felt around him, and how it ached just a bit when he shifted around, as if searching for something. He gave a few shallow thrusts, to keep her stimulated, but it wasn’t until he rubbed against a seam in the front of her entrance that she gasped.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she hissed, as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

“Yes, ma’am!”

Iras would’ve called him a smartass, if he hadn’t started to rub his palm against her nub as he thrust his fingers against that spot over and over again. She felt the buildup from the bottoms of her feet, to the tips of her fingers, a tingling everywhere that had her muscles tightening all over in response.

“Shit!” Iras gasped, and bowed around him. She climaxed in a blur of white hot pleasure. Her eyes screwed shut, and her hips twitched against him as her walls clenched around his fingers like a vice. Idly, she could feel James’ erection twitch at her sudden movements, and he murmured under his breath as she clung to him, but she didn’t care. All she cared about in that moment was the cascade of mind numbing honey that rushed over her body, to her toes and her fingers, and rendered her boneless. She calmed in his arms when he pulled his fingers out of her, her hips spasming one last time at the friction.

When she felt her bones regenerate, and that her hips could support her, she leaned back on his knees, her chest heaving as she panted.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

“I try,” James said, his voice strained. She noted the way he shifted his hips, pushing up against her, trying to find some friction for his own painfully obvious need. Iras cocked an eyebrow at him, then snaked her hand down his stomach and into his pants.

 

James watched her with hitched breath. He raked his teeth over his bottom lip, an action he’d done innumerable times since they’d started whatever this was, and he felt the starts of what promised to be an interesting story smarting under one incisor. Her eyes narrowed on him, and James found himself enamored with the way the steely color almost glowed in the night around them. When her fingers enclosed around him the contact sent a thrill through James’ body, and he resisted spilling then and there.

The way Iras had bent onto him, had been putty in his hands when he undid her every nerve and resistance, and had made James nearly climax on his own, then and there, just from the sight and sound. Never had James seen the adept so vulnerable, and when she quaked around him, James felt his entire body stiffen. So, when she gave him a calculative pump, the marine hissed under his breath.  She leaned back, still straddling his legs, though now supported her weight on the balls of her feet. He reclined as far as he could on the couch, and attempted not to look at her hand as it began a slow, teasing speedy. Fuck. He wasn’t going to last long at all. _How fucking embarrassing!_

“Wasn’t going to ask,” James asserted. He hadn’t thought she’d reciprocate. Iras existed, to James, as a solitary figure. She socialized, sure, and she hung around them often enough, but he most often saw her on her own or with Caleb, and then the two weren’t speaking or interacting. To imagine that she would willingly, and without coaxing, initiate touching him made his gut tug.

She smirked at him, the motion pulling her scar to a deep wrinkle. At first, he found the deep injury a bit off-putting, but, then he reminded himself that he wasn’t exactly as pure as the driven snow himself. They all had scars from either the War, or their service before it, so James quickly alleviated his short lived prejudice. Now, the look she gave him, scar and all, made something in the marine want to push her down on the couch and plow into her. She looked like a big cat, like some kind of panther or leopard, with the way her eyes glinted and her lips spread. Iras gave him a faster pump, her tongue momentarily smoothing her lower lip.

“I figured as much. I don’t do one-sided pleasure, Vega.”

That statement opened a plethora of possibilities to James’ fogged mind. However, in his state, with his hips arching into her steady touch, and the burning of his skin against the couch and cold night air, he couldn’t fathom the meaning. His world narrowed down to the way Iras pulled her pants up with one hand, while the other started to go just a bit faster.

She twisted her grip around the head of his cock, and James grunted at the way it made his toes curl.

“You’re good at this.”

“Thanks, I try.”

It took all of James’ willpower to ignore the now roar in his ears to just topple them over onto the couch and fuck her senseless. He didn’t know why, he could feel a silent, mutually agreed upon barrier that had been erected from the very start of their… exploration. She granted him access, but only for this, and James didn’t feel like testing his luck with his dick in Iras’ hand. He shuddered to think of what those biotics could do to his balls.

James rested his hands against her hips, after having trouble finding something to do with them. He felt a familiar tension start to pull at the small of his back, and heat start to build in his gut. He shifted just a bit, pressing into her, and let out a low groan.

Her eyes flittered to his at the sound, and a small glint caught his attention. She raised an eyebrow at him, and a smirk his pleasure addled brain didn’t care for spread from ear to ear. She repeated the motion that elicited the response from him, and he couldn’t help that each time she brushed her knuckles against the seam under the head his chest forced a low groan from him. Each pass sent electric sparks up his spine, and soon he was thrusting into her grip, holding onto her hips firm enough that he was sure she’d have bruises in the morning. A small satisfaction boiled at his neck at the thought that, on top of the now violent hickey he saw building up her neck and collarbone, she’d have more marks to his momentary claim. He knew it was irrational, after all trying to claim anything from Iras, he felt, would be like trying to hold water without cupping his hands. But, it didn’t stop the small rush the idea of her sporting marks from _him_.

He wanted to speak, to tell her to get on with it, but his mouth wouldn’t move from the parted, panting position it’d locked itself into. His throat felt thick, and his tongue swollen, so when Iras rolled a shoulder, and her eyes flashed like he’d seen them do time and again on the battlefield, and in the training ring, he felt his stomach lurch. Determination set her features, and she put her other hand into his pants, though decided to not pull them down to ease her access. Instead, it was like she could tell James found it hot that she deigned to keep him like this. It felt like his first time all over again, with that older girl from down the block, when she’d broken up with her boyfriend and needed an outlet. He tried to resist the moans wrenching their way from him, but the way she spread her palm around the head of his cock, and the way her grasp twisted just a bit from top to bottom, had him grunting and moaning like a whore.

James' hands flew from her hips to her hair, and he liked the way she yelped when he fisted the dark gold strands. She shot an incredulous look at him, but he didn’t give her time to build on her ire before he pulled her forward. He kissed at her in a thrumming frenzy, his whole body now buzzing in the coming release. He thrust into her hand, over and over, and she adjusted to both his demanding mouth and focusing on getting him off. She let him take control, the one ounce of it he had with his junk in her hand, and the fact that she sighed into his mouth sent a bolt of heat straight into his stomach. He tried to rally his brain, to not be consumed in the onslaught of sensations swimming around him, but Iras’ touch was like a drug, and he was chasing the dragon.

His world went white for a second, his hips jolting off of the couch, when she sneered against his mouth and her hands sent a small, experimental shock over his lower body. He shuddered, and almost finished, but the abruptness and near pain shook the building boil instead of breaking it. He hissed, swallowed, and forced open his eyes.

“What…” he had a hard time forcing his mind to form words.

Her mouth ticked down, and concern flashed over her features.

“Did that not feel good? I’m sorry.”

James felt her grip slacken, and out of reflex his hand rushed to her wrist, and held her still. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, his eyes never losing track of hers.

“No, it just… it was a bit of a shock. Warn me next time.”

“Next time?” Iras gave him a waned smile, as if questioning his cockiness.

“Yeah… this feels too good not to do it again,” James purred.

James didn’t miss the small quake in her grip, or the panic he’d seen in her eyes at the prospect of her maybe hurting him. The concern lit something warm in his chest, and he mulled it over even as his back once again started to tighten and tingle. He curled his toes, dug his heels into the foot of the couch, and tried not to hold his breath as he came closer and closer to release.

She ended him with one last twist, and he tensed everywhere. His hips snapped forward, and with a grunt he spilled out over her hand and onto his stomach. The hot liquid seemed cool to his overheated body, and James’ vision was nothing but white behind his eyelids. He gripped to her hips, unsure when he’d grabbed her, and rode out the twitching of his hips.

Her hands left him, and James’ world felt abruptly smaller. He didn’t release her, though, as he came down, as his hearing came back from the happy buzz of blood through his veins. She sat back into his grip, though a small snort caught his attention.

“You’ve got some O-face, Vega.”

“It’s sexy, you know it.”

Iras snickered, and smacked his chest.

“Yeah, yeah. Now, let me go, I need to go clean up.”

“I could help you?” James opened one blurry eye. Her figure came into focus as she was wiping her hands on her shirt. He traced the stains the motion left on the over-sized, grey top.

“I think I’m good, now, thanks.”

James hummed as he released her hips. He knew that she could break his hold if she wanted to. Adepts were nothing if not wily, and holding one down was a chore. When released, she stood up, and stretched with her arms above her head. James watched the flash of taught skin from under her shirt, admiring the cut of her hipbones, and undaunted curve of muscle.

“You better not regret this in the morning, Vega,” Iras ruffled his hair as she walked passed. He liked the feel of her fingers on his head, and he wanted them to sink back in, like they had on Omega.

“It’s already morning.”

“And you called me a smartass.”

“You really do have a nice ass,” James commented, watching as she bounced on her toes waiting for the elevator. She shot him a look, one he couldn’t place, before she smirked again.

“Don’t think just because you gave me a hand job that I’ll go easy on you in training today, Vega. You know the drill, nine o’clock.”

James couldn’t help the chuckle that followed her statement. He saluted her, mockingly, as she boarded the elevator. When the door closed, that’s when James allowed the smallest prick of uncertainty, of near panic, flood him. Thinking back on it, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He just fingered a superior officer, his instructor, and potentially someone on his future review board for his next test. He groaned, and put his face into his hands, leaning between his knees. Though it was true, he didn’t regret it, not all the way, but the panic building in his gut gave the emotion a run for its money. What if the cameras had been moved tonight? What if they saw them? Would he be kicked out? Would Iras?

James’ mouth went dry the more his mind reeled. He scraped his fingers down the bridge of his nose, covering his lower face, and stared out into the dark of the lobby. Great, how was he supposed to sleep the rest of the night?

The heat of Iras’ body burned against him, even when minutes dragged by and the sun began to turn the horizon a steely grey.

 

 


	12. After burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the cooling down of the night before/early morning, James and Iras independently each start to panic about what they've just done. But, what is there to worry about? They're two consenting adults, and surely they can both keep a secret. So, with the strange draw that they both know exists, they give in to whatever it is that's pulling them together. Iras lays down some ground rules, but James sometimes isn't known for following the rules, especially after Paragon Lost.

**Chapter Twelve:**

**After burn**

 

 

“I’m an idiot,” Iras whispered. She paced the floor of her quarters, making an oblong figure-eight around her couch and coffee table. What just transpired in the lobby played over in her head, with each second burned into her brain, and every touch torching her skin. She whirled for another circuit, scrubbing her eyes with her palms and growling under her breath in frustration. Panic, acute and abrupt, seized her once she set foot into the elevator. Though she played off the interaction with a blasé air, in actuality she was well aware of the repercussions of if they got caught.

Though the rules relaxed after the War, after all there were only so many N7 candidates after the military getting decimated, but there were still firm rules on fraternization. If James were in the same year, the same rank, as Iras there would be no problem to what they’d done. But, he wasn’t, he was a grand three levels under her, and to make things worse she was a current instructor to the marine. If anyone, particularly Berkley, got wind of what just happened they’d both be in the shitter. She paused her pacing. Sweat trickled down the side of her temple, and her body trembled with anxiety. This was why she didn’t pursue anything with someone she knew. This was why she berated Caleb for his latest infractions. But, now, it would seem, she was a hypocrite.

Iras ran her hands desperately through her hair, as if trying to free her scalp of the sensation of James’ hands massaging her. If she got caught, the best that could happen would be a suspension for a month, no pay, and the worst? With her record, she didn’t even want to think about it. Though Hackett headed the Alliance Military, even still, she didn’t want to think about how he’d react. Ever since her own father’s passing, she dreaded Hackett’s disappoint as much as her biological father.

The thought occurred to her to call it off. With the way James had touched her, and how he’d said ‘next time’ so self-affirming, she knew that if she didn’t it would happen again. Now she knew how he’d felt after Omega. The waters, at this point, were filled with silt, and so murky that she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. Iras plopped herself onto the couch and tried to focus on anything but the way his dark eyes had seared into her. She’d dug her own grave by telling him to not regret what they just did. At this point, she knew better than to think it wouldn’t happen again.

Since day one, she’d felt an odd pull towards the marine. At first it was curiosity. After all, a war hero, someone who served under the Commander Shepard, who was present at the last push, who rode in the Normandy out of the Sol System during the destruction of the Relay’s, had come into her program. And he came in like a tornado. Out of all the recruits, he stood out like a sore thumb. His hulking mass, his sardonic but ever serious personality, and the self-deprecation at every turn despite the presence of impressive skillsets, made him stand out above the crowd around him. There’d been running bets among the upperclassmen on who in the recruit pool would pass the first test, and with what score. She made over two thousand credits off James.

Her curiosity soon turned to genuine interest, and it started after their talk in the garden. After that, she sought the recruit out, offered him advice, and liked to think her interest was that of a superior trying to mentor someone they saw potential in. But, she knew that was a lie. Physically, James was the antithesis of her type. She preferred slim muscle, litheness, the ability to move quickly and easily. So, her fascination caused disquieted her.

If any other man tried to pull the shit he did in the gym half the time, she’d level them. If Berkley dared to sit on her, with her arms pinned, even despite the no biotics rule she would send him flying. With James, though, she liked the challenge. She liked knowing he was physically that much stronger than she, she liked knowing that he could take her in a hand to hand fight and that he would win. She liked his defiance. She liked his grit.

With the knowledge that James had a weird power over her, she decided on one thing. This would need to be kept quiet. If anyone else found out, the consequences could be dire. So, Iras spent the rest of her sleepless night coming up with ground rules, because, if they were going to do this, they were going to do it right.

 

* * *

 

 

When James managed to get back into his room, the sun already was peeking out from the tree line, and any hope for sleep was long passed. Tanaka greeted him, already starting his morning stretches on the floor beside his bed, though James had a hard time seeing him. His brain churned over what happened. He scrubbed at his stomach, self-conscious despite the fact that he’d stopped by the lobby bathroom to clean up before coming back. He felt the burn of it still on his skin, branded on, like Iras’ lips on his, like a giant scarlet letter. An emotion very akin to guilt hissed in his stomach.

Tanaka rolled a shoulder as he stood up. Already dressed in his morning workout clothing, it didn’t escape James that he, too, had dark circles under his eyes. James ignored the reddening mark on his neck, which the Engineer attempted to cover with his jet black hair.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Tanaka asked.

James grunted though a small laugh almost escaped his throat. Gone was the panic from downstairs, and in its wake was a numb acceptance. He couldn’t change what happened, and the pleased lightness in his body wouldn’t want it to either way. The last time he’d been with someone was just before coming to the academy. He picked up a navy brat in a seedy bar, and she was all too willing to relieve his stress about going to the N7 program. He blamed the heat and abruptness of it all on the fact that it’d been too long since he got laid. Though, a small nagging in his head told him he was wrong.

He pulled on an undershirt, and eyed his training clothes.

“Yeah, you could say that. You?”

Tanaka feigned looking offended. He put his hand on his chest, like some flustered southern belle, before scoffing, a shit-eating grin splitting his face from ear to ear.

“A bit.”

“Lucky bastard,” James responded. The last ten minutes of him scrubbing himself in the bathroom consisted of playing this conversation, this scenario, in his head. Now that he was faced with Tanaka, and the fact that the Engineer, despite his staggering IQ, didn’t notice anything amiss with the marine, a small sense of deflation struck James’ chest. James shucked off his pants and proceeded to dress into his armored clothing.

He had a sneaking feeling Iras was going to put him through the ringer today. He brought up his omni-tool and switched on the injury cooling system, something he usually reserved for open battle.

Tanaka began to latch on his own battle armor. The kid scored the lowest in close combat, which made sense considering his career path. As such, the bigwigs assigned him the toughest, meanest, and surprisingly biggest fan of stuffed unicorns, on the whole base—a Krogan Soldier they’d dug up after the war. A former general, he offered his services after the first few waves of krogan were shipped off towards Tuchanka. As it stood, Tanaka got his ass handed to him every three days.

James finished his suit-up around the time Tanaka finished his greaves.

“I fucking  _hate_ heavy armor.”

“Hey, I wear heavy armor,” James said. He wished Iras allowed him to wear it during their training, maybe he wouldn’t have bruises the size of subcontinents.

“Yeah, well, I’m not you. How do you move in this shit?”

“Gotta drink your milk, buddy.”

A bright red burned at his dorm mate’s ears, and James tamped down the urge to tease him. Though the kid never told him, James saw the telltale signs of him batting for the other team. Hell, James spent nearly a half year on the Normandy, cooped up in the shuttle bay with Cortez, he liked to think he had the gaydar of a god. The only question was, who the kid’s partner was. Even after two months of the guy slipping out in the middle of the night after some random beep sounded on his omni, James was no closer to figuring out who was shagging him.

Tanaka ran his hands through his hair, trying to slick it back to the best of his ability. Krogan’s weren’t above grabbing hair, a lesson he learned very early. He finished his heavy armor adjustments, but it was when he turned back to James that his blood ran a bit cold. The engineer’s eyes widened, then he smirked, and pointed to his own neck, a spot that was not peppered with red and purple.

James’ hand flew to the area and question, and he fought his hardest to fight a bloom of blood over the bridge of his nose.

“Look what we have here.” 

James knew better than to try to call a hickey a bug bite. He cursed his luck for not spotting it when in the bathroom. Maybe then, he’d be mentally prepared to offer an explanation. Instead, he stood there, his jaw tight, and the wheels in his head turning, attempting to come up with a sarcastic retort. It didn’t come.

“Good going.” One thing never changed about Tanaka, James noticed. Even when presented with the opportunity to prod and devastate the people around him, instead his eyes would narrow, a smile would crease his face, and he’d make a one sentence remark. Succinct and to the point, James feared the engineer more than he’d ever let on.

James furled a forced sneer.

“Yeah, I was just waiting until I got settled in, ya know? Plus, getting kind of pent up with the promotion test coming up.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tanaka said. The press of the coming test was brought to their attention by the instructors on a regular basis. They exited the room at the same time, making small talk as they made their way to the elevator, both their minds too full of the day to come to concentrate on anything else.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Athentia, got a minute?”

Iras leaned against the desk the asari in question was using to contact her family on Thessia. She swept her blue eyes up to Iras’, her mouth pursing, before she turned back to the glowing screen.

“Can it wait? I’m trying to convince my cousin that reproducing with just anyone right now because our species was almost eradicated is a bad idea.” The sarcasm, the disappointment laced in the older woman’s voice, made Iras raise her eyebrows. She poked her head around to look at the screen, and frowned. It wasn’t often that she saw straight asari script, asari usually used a common galactic dialect in order to make it easier on all involved—you could only have populations isolated from the mother culture for so long before languages changed too much to not be understood by all. Athentia’s hands flew over the keys, and Iras felt like the problem she wanted advice about was petty.

“Yeah, it can. Sorry to hear about that,” Iras offered.

“Yeah, well, she’s an idiot. She’s still in her Maiden years, so she’s impulsive. She really needs to wait another hundred years before she even thinks of having a kid. Much less with a goddamn merc.”

“If I remember right, you were a merc.”

“Until you dug your claws into me.”

“You make me sound like a cult leader.”

“Like Delta wasn’t a bit culty?” Athentia teased. She scrolled up to the top, and Iras pretended to read over the text with her.

“Asari script is really pretty.”

Athentia looked over her shoulders, her brows raising. Iras resisted the urge to flick one of her crests.

“Unlike your handwriting.”

“Watch it, fuchsia.”

“Sit down, and shut up. I just need to finish rereading this before I send it. Then, I’ll entertain whatever harebrained idea you got in your furry little head.”

“It’s… it’s not fur. We’ve been through this.” Iras tugged at her hair as she sat down next to the asari. Ever since picking Athentia up on Ilium back in the day, she’d been having this argument with the asari. Biologically, the chemical makeup of hair and fur is the exact same, was what the asari would point out. Followed quickly by Iras’ contention that it made as much sense as calling an asari a cuttlefish. Just because they looked similar, or were genetically relevant, didn’t mean they were the same. Given the long standing nature of the lighthearted feud, Iras knew the topic wouldn’t be dropped any time soon.

She spun her chair and looked idly at the waiting computer screen before her. Iras made sure to do all her mail, correspondents, and the like right after she woke up and had her coffee. She didn’t want the distraction of knowing she hadn’t done so weighing her down, and she didn’t understand people who put it off until late at night. What if she got bad news? What if she got a mission statement, or an emergency order? If she saw it that late, what little sleep the adept was privy to would evaporate, and she’d spend the rest of the evening obsessing, researching, and compiling relevant data. No, morning was best. So, as she watched the asari finish up her work, and send it off to be read, and thrown out, by her cousin Iras wondered why others didn’t follow the same routine. It made sense, it was logical, and yet only a good third of the academy followed the regimen.

Athentia turned at last with a sigh, rubbing her temples.

“You look like shit,” the asari commented when she finally met Iras’ stare.

Iras wrinkled her nose, thought of something snappy, but decided against it. She knew she did, and to try to pull one over on Athentia, of all people, was a bad idea. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, and firmed her lips together.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

For every soldier alive after the war, the phrase acted as a code. So, Athentia’s purple tinged color paled, and she wrung her hands in front of her.

“Sorry to hear that. Do you want me to…?”

“What? No, no,” Iras started.

“It used to help you sleep back in Delta.”

“That was then, but thanks for the offer.”

Back when she first joined Delta, a month after the end of her time in solitary, she couldn’t sleep at all. The quiet walls, metal frame of her bed, and the roaring memories of her fight in the apartment kept her brain ever occupied. When Athentia first came on, Iras told her out of frustration. It was then that she learned that the asari mind-joining process could help ease the memories, at least for a short time, short enough for her to get enough sleep before a big mission. Athentia took on the brunt of the images, and in its wake Iras had been left at peace.

“So, what brings you all the way over here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be on the other side of the academy, breaking in your new meat puppet?”

Iras fought the burn in her ears. Of all people, Athentia couldn’t know what happened. She had to keep her face as calm, cool, and blank as possible. She swallowed, and forced a grin as she said, “he can wait, the big oaf. He’s impatient, so I’ll just say it’s part of his training.”

“Really? He seems anything, but impatient when he gets serious.”

Iras took a big inhale, trying to steel her features.

“True. But, when he’s not, he’s like a puppy.”

“Is it true he likes asari? He’s kind of my type.”

Iras licked her lips, and didn’t like the way that Athentia’s eyes narrowed on her, though a smile spread over her face. _Shit_. Maybe coming to ask her about how to turn off the cameras in the academy was a bad idea. Maybe, she should’ve gone to Caleb. Caleb would know. Hell, Caleb was famous for his turning them off wherever he went, much to Acker’s chagrin.

Iras schooled her posture, relaxing back into the chair, unaware she’d tensed up.

“I heard something like that, maybe. Though, he seems pretty set on not fucking anyone here. Why’re you asking me?” Iras fished.

Athentia shrugged. Today was one of the few days the asari had time off. The vanguard’s had the next three days off, until the N7 in charge of the upperclassmen came back from a mission. Until then, Athentia had way too much free time on her hands, and Iras could tell, by the way, her eyes glinted that she was up to her old tricks. Meddling in the affairs of her teammates still seemed to be her number one favorite hobby.

“Oh, it’s just you spend so much time with him, I thought you of all people would know.”

“I’m his instructor, of course, I spend time with him,” Iras deflected.

“Sure, and you totally don’t go out for drinks with him on your time off.”

“Him and the other N2’s. You gotta build ‘em up before your tear them down. You have to keep morale up.” That part, at least, was true. She’d gone out of her way when they first arrived to make nice, make friends, and make sure the ones she saw as the most likely to succeed did so added difficulty. She singled out James, Tanaka, and Anne since she saw their stats and their performance in Hell. Though, now that Hell was over, she supposed there was no more reason to continue the act. She wondered when it had stopped being about building them up, and more about not being alone.

“Right. You might be able to pull one over on Berkley, but not with me, Bennet. You like him.”

“Them, I like them,” Iras corrected.

“Whatever. Now, what did you want, you hairless ape?”

“At least you didn’t say fur,” Iras breathed. She wrinkled her nose, and debated if now would be the best time to ask. She wagered, by how the asari’s sharp eyes and a pointed grin still lingered, it wasn’t. Yep, it’d be better to ask Caleb.

 

* * *

 

 

James groaned as he rolled over on the padded ground of the training room. Just as he thought, Iras either ramped up her intensity, or he had managed to backtrack a good month. He scrapped at the ground in front of him, his head pounding from smacking against the floor. A small part of him hoped, against his better judgment, which what happened just a few hours before would make her softer on him, would make her ease up. No, if anything it made it worse. The second he’d walked into the room, she sent him flying into a corner, and let him slide down with the wind knocked from his chest.

“You have to expect the unexpected with biotics, Vega!” she barked at him. She paced across from him, her hands on her hips, waiting for him to get up. Her eyes had an edge to them he hadn’t seen before, a coldness, like the metal on an assault rifle, and a small thrill ran up his back at the look she shot him. When he managed to get back onto his feet, gasping for air, she stopped her pacing, and pulsed blue again.

James had just enough time to throw himself to the side before what would have been a Heavy Throw slammed against the wall where he’d been standing. He scrambled to his feet and began zigzagging his way around the room as she sent attack after attack after him. One, though, clipped his ankle, and he was sent sailing into the wall closest to him, his face almost making contact with the mat. James felt his bones rattle, and he groaned again. Yep, subcontinent sized bruises were already starting to form on his ribcage. He managed to not slide to the ground in a heap this time, but his legs felt like noodles from being whipped around.

“Are you even trying, James?”

“Hey! I managed to dodge those other ones,” this was the thing James hated most about training with the Fury. She ran the program like a dictator. Whenever he slipped up, it negated all the good that previously happened. One wrong step, and in her eyes he’d fallen back to where they started. She wrinkled her nose at him, but James got distracted by the tank top she wore that day. He spotted the familiar dark swirls of her tattoo, and a small voice inside whispered that he wished he’d taken her shirt off last night so he could see it in its entirety.

“It takes just one coming into contact to throw you off your feet. When you’re down, the enemy can finish you off, so it doesn’t matter how many you dodged,” her voice grew in agitation, and James prepared himself for the blue orb hurtling at him. He learned over the last month that, when angry at him for failing some aspect, during her ranting she often lashed out to prove a point. This time, he was prepared. He managed to step just a bit to the side as the singularity established, and his shields were sucked in with a crackling, purple glow.

He shifted, grunted, and managed to pull himself away by edging closer and closer to the edge of the gravity well. When free, he had just a few seconds before he had to dodge a fist flying at his head. Shocked, he moved a bit too close towards the singularity and felt the well swallow up his ankle. He swore, held up his arm to block a kick straight to his neck, and struggled to free himself. This was new. She’d never attacked him while attempting to get free of a singularity before. He wrenched his foot free, and caught her wrist, bent it backwards, and sent her to her knees in front of him. And, if it weren’t for the adept training, he would have had her, but Iras lashed backwards with her left leg, and sent him tumbling to the ground just as the singularity dissipated.

James managed to roll in time to avoid a boot coming straight down to his face, and grabbed the underside of her knee. He bent her leg, threw it over his shoulder, and rolled her to where she was situated directly under him, her leg over his shoulder, and her other one pinned. He didn’t have time to enjoy his victory as her eyes turned that bright, damnable blue, and he was sent flying with a backhanded strike.

“Hey, I thought we said no biotics during hand to hand?” James complained. He turned just as she flexed her fingers, shaking them from the force of the hit she’d given him. He still felt the tingle of the charged energy over his body.

“It’s a good thing this isn’t hand to hand, then,” Iras said, as she stalked towards where he managed to bring himself up to standing. James repressed another shiver running up his spine at how her body moved when she meant business.

He dove out of the way to avoid a Slam, but didn’t manage to block the kick that came his way after. James attempted to grab her ankle, but he was forced to again dodge a Shockwave or be sent, again, into a wall. It was sessions like this that made him glad the entire room was padded. James managed to block what would’ve been a sound uppercut, and grabbed her arm, He had just moments to land his own punch to her side before having to hop away from a quick surge of energy designed to send him backward. She nursed the area with a small grimace, and James worried he’d hit too hard, before she started coming at him again.

The blood pumped in his veins, harder and faster than any other training session before. Her movements were quicker, tougher to keep track of, but eventually they fell into a rhythm he could keep up with. They went on, uninterrupted, until she made a mistake. She shot out a Warp too soon, and with the massive cool down the attack had, it left her wide open. James kicked her right in her stomach, and sent her thudding against the wall. He pinned her arms above her, determined to stop her from getting into stance, and stood on her feet to stop her from kicking him as she gulped down air.

“A little intense today,” James observed. He could feel the swelling of a black eye from where she managed to land a good punch, and though his suit was actively cooling the wounded areas, he could tell already he’d need to ready icepacks when he got back to his quarters.

Iras snorted.

“You were pissing me off.”

“What? How?” James felt a small kernel of that same panic as this morning. The thought occurred to him that though she all but ordered him not to regret what happened, it didn’t stop her from coming to the conclusion he had on Omega. The numbed acceptance of this morning burst open the crusted over heat from before, and his skin prickled.

“You were too distracted,” she said.

James blinked, and pursed his lips. He tried to counteract her statement, but realized she was right. When he walked into the room, his mind had been flooded with scenario after scenario, mostly the dirty kind where he’d push her to the ground and attempt to leave a permanent indentation in the padding. It was little surprise that she’d hit him the second he came in. In fact, he remembered that she’d done just that a few times already, at random intervals, to catch him off his guard. The last two times it’d happened, he managed to avoid the attacks, and they’d gone right into training. Today, though, he got hit, and he hadn’t gotten back on his feet fast enough for her liking.

“Right, uh,” James tried to find a way to brush it off, to pretend there was a reason why he’d acted like a sex starved teen after his first time. He came up with nothing, and instead let go of her wrists with a quick, “sorry.”

She sighed and rubbed her joints. She motioned for him to get off of her feet, too, but he stayed, unsure if she was going to continue to try to hit him.

“I’m still your instructor, Vega. If you come in half-assed like that again, I’m going to actively try to hurt you.”

“Like you weren’t just now?”

Iras rolled her eyes.

An awkward silence settled between them, and James could tell she was trying to think of something to say. The usual, nonstop witty banter faltered and left them both floundering. He decided that she was done trying to kill him, and moved off of her feet, but stayed as close as he’d been. She crossed her arms over her chest, and tried to look put off, but James saw the tips of her ears tinge with red.

“Tu es si heurex que je pense que tu es mignon,” she breathed, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I understood half of that.” James’ resisted the smirk that threatened to break his calm exterior. The connotation of Iras finding him cute, versus when the Commander had said it on the Normandy, rang in his very bones.

She paused, and a swift look of either abject terror, or mortification flashed over her, before realization dawned in her eyes. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“That’s right, your file says you speak fluent Spanish.”

“Family’s Puerto Rican, of course I do. Say something else in French,” James placed his hands on either side of her against the wall. He wanted to hear her speak more French. He liked the way the language flowed, like water over river stones, and though he found Spanish just as beautiful, French was foreign, different, and had a sense of otherness. He wanted to see her ears turn red. He wanted to see her flustered, and to hell with the training. The last fifteen minutes were more than enough to prove, in his mind, that he was ready for whatever the next test threw his way. If he could fend off a pissed off Fury Adept for that length of time, then he stood confident that nobody else could shake him.

She arched an eyebrow at him, and proceeded to call him an idiot, even as he leaned forward. He could feel the dampness of her breath against him, and the stiffness of her body as he got closer. His lips just about touched hers when they were met with her hand covering his face. Iras sighed, and pushed him back an inch or two.

“There _are_ cameras in here. You can’t just do that.” _  
_

“Oh, right,” James pulled away, and glanced up towards the corners of the room. Sure enough, in each corner glowed the bright red light of a security bot, watching their every move. It amazed James how used to the ever prying eyes of the military he’d become. A faint buzzing caught his attention, and he looked to see her flipping her omni-tool on, and pressing a rapid succession of buttons. The red lights on the cameras flickered, then turned off, leaving them alone.

“You have to let me do this first, otherwise we’ll get into serious trouble,” Iras admonished.

“Didn’t know you were allowed to do that.”

“We’re not, but Acker doesn’t enforce that rule. He’s a dick, but he isn’t stupid,” she lowered her omni-tool. James turned back to her, and tried to focus on something other than her lips. It was as if this morning, or last night he didn’t care about terminology, opened a dam and all kinds of repressed urges he didn’t know he had came flooding out.

He closed the distance between them again, resting on his elbows on the wall behind her.

“So, does that mean I get to keep going?” he asked, attempting to make his voice as low as possible.

Iras looked torn for a moment. She shifted to where she was better within the small cage of limbs he created, and James didn’t miss how she also kept looking at his lips, but a flash of uncertainty lingered. She clenched her jaw, before saying:

“Maybe. We need to discuss what happened, Vega.”

A small well of alarm bubbled in James’ stomach, but he hid it admirably. He cleared his throat, though a sour disappointment tainted his face. He frowned.

“What’s to discuss?” The worst case scenario that James conjured up in the bathroom that morning reared its ugly head. Maybe she regretted it. Maybe she didn’t want to repeat what happened. Maybe she realized he was just a meathead, and that he wasn’t worth her time. The side of James that he kept hidden, kept locked away in a cage deep within his psyche, whispered his old insecurities in his ears. He wasn’t smart enough for a woman like Iras. All James was good for was a meat shield. She didn’t desire anything more from him than a one-night stand.

Iras rubbed the nape of her neck, and James spotted the dark hickey he’d given her. She hadn’t worn a shirt that covered it up, or her combat fatigues to hide it away.

“Well, for one, that I’m your current superior officer, and your instructor. I’m three ranks above you, and we’re more than likely going to continue to serve on missions together until either of us graduates. Are you sure you want to do this?” She pressed her index finger into the middle of his chest, poking him hard even through his armor. Her grey eyes were narrowed, determined. She’d thought long and hard about this, and judging from the dark circles that he now saw, she hadn’t slept a wink after what they’d done either. A bit of guilt twisted his stomach at that, the idea that he caused her to lose even more sleep, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for both of them having felt good.

He weighed his options. He thought about all this already during his brooding in the lobby and in the bathroom. She had a point. They were going to continue to serve together, through battlefield and infiltration missions, and their new dynamic could add an unwanted dash of drama. If they fought the day before, or if they broke off in an unsavory way, it would mess up the morale of any squad they would get put in. Added to that, that he wasn’t sure that they would have the time for anything serious while enrolled, and he wasn’t sure what to do. Where his brain failed, however, his body lead, and he ducked his head so that he was a mere breath away from her.

“I’m sure. Don’t know what it is about you, Knuckles, but I’ve been wanting to touch you for months.” In saying it, James realized it was true. He’d wanted to touch her almost from the moment he saw her in that ring with the now flunked out Conrad.

No witty comeback flew at him. Instead, her cheeks reddened just a bit, enough to color the pale skin, and she firmed her lips.

“Then we need to establish ground rules,” she said, even as he threatened to kiss her. God, her brain never stopped working. She overthought everything, he found, and he wanted her to just shut up. He brushed his nose to hers, trying to distract her from the gears churning in her head, but she was nothing if not stubborn.

He sighed, and stood back a bit, allowing her breathing room. The action, he noted, caused her cheeks to heat even more.

“Fine. What’re the rules?”

“What do you want out of this, James?”

“You’re making this sound like a business deal. Can’t we just make-out and hookup?”

“Because we’re in what used to be a top secret training facility with very strict fraternization rules.”

James hesitated, then grumbled. “You have a point.”

“So, what are you expecting out of this, James?”

He took advantage of her increasing embarrassment, and leaned down to press his lips to hers. He lingered there, not deepening it the way he wanted, but it was just enough to make her jump.

When he pulled away, he licked his lower lip, as if tasting her, and he was rewarded with her ears turning an angry red. “Well, that. Some stress relief, too.”

He felt Iras grab onto his suit’s clothe, her eyes locking with his.

“Alright. Well, my ground rules are we can’t start anything until I’ve disabled the room’s cameras. We have to make sure no one finds out about this, okay?” James nodded, even as he brought the rest of his body closer, effectively pinning her against the wall. He wanted to drive her to distraction, to pull her brain out of thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, and just let go. She hitched her breath when he placed one hand on her hip and started to trace his way up and down. She swallowed, and continued, “and, we can’t do anything while on missions. Missions are not the time or place for any of this, we’re there to get a job done, not fuck.”

“Anything else?” James asked, impatient.

Iras pushed herself against him a bit, her breath now ghosting his face and over his ears.

“If… if either of us can’t sleep, if we want help we contact each other on our omni’s through a secure channel. But, we’re not obligated to have sex if we don’t want to. That goes for both of us.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah, buy some fucking condoms… but, for now I’m done.”

James seized her by the shoulders, pushed her against the padded wall, and pressed his lips to hers more insistently. He didn’t know where they were going with this, and frankly at the moment he didn’t care. Not since his time on Fehl Prime had he wanted someone this bad. She sank into his bones gradually over the last few months, until they ached when he couldn’t touch her. Now, his body buzzed in pleasure at catching the adept.

She arched into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss. The terror and panic of earlier that morning evaporated, though a part of him remained anxious at the premise of getting caught. In the absence of his earlier fear, James found something swimming through his veins, and invading every cranny of his body. It left his limbs feeling light and heavy at the same time, and his chest burned with a familiar want. He slid his hands down her sides, and cupped Iras’ rear.

She yelped when he hiked her up the wall, her legs coming to wrap around his waist. She felt so small in his grasp, her body so lithe and flexible. Every curve of muscle, every press of whatever softness was left on her trained body, bent into him, as he conquered her mouth with prejudice. With the anxiety of her refusing him gone, he felt comfortable enough to go at a languid, but deliberate pace. In time, he’d learn what she liked and what she didn’t. In time, he’d learn just how to undo her the quickest way, and how to keep her on the edge of whatever cliff he pushed her to, and leave her wanting. Until then, he contented himself with the idea of the future, and with how she tasted, and how damn addicting her smell was. He used to think that whatever the Commander used was the best shit he ever smelled, but now he questioned that. Iras smelled like the outside after a hard rain, clean and yet undeniably earthy, and it pushed into him, washed over his brain, and drowned him.

James pulled away, allowing Iras time to breathe. He noticed the way her scar dipped under her right nostril, to where it blunted the shape a bit, and he wanted to ask if it hindered her ability to breathe. He wanted to ask, but the look she gave him made him surge back forward.

James told himself this wasn’t serious. He told himself that this was just a way for both of them to relieve stress while in the academy, that it was temporary. But, he could tell already just how strong the pull she could potentially have on him, and how dangerous it could be.


	13. Chapter 13

 

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**Awakening**

 

Being a soldier was one of the few things James was really good at. He excelled at being a grunt, at taking that hill, at charging at the enemy, at maintaining guns and making sure his squad did the best they could. All around, James knew he was an excellent soldier. But, that didn’t stop the doubt that crept into his mind every time he had a few minutes to himself to think. The events on Fehl Prime, though he liked to think he was over it, still lurked deep within him, clouding his judgment. Every call he made, he made with the knowledge of what happened before. Every consequence of his orders swirled in his brain during leadership trials. He remembered Shepard telling him that there wasn’t a single N7 alive that hadn’t sacrificed either themselves or their soldiers to complete a mission, and he supposed now he fit that bill to a T. It didn’t stop the guilt, though. Especially, with Iras staring him down, waiting for him to start the training session.

Every other aspect of this damn school he did well in, minus his technology courses and this. Tanaka helped him out with the hacking, but James still fought the urge to just kick the machines and pull some wires, to see what would happen. Over the last two months he fought and clawed his way to be able to even stand a few minutes against the adept across from him, and James had the feeling he would be facing the unholy combination of Iras and Caleb in his next test. No matter how good at his job he was, they were better. It didn’t matter to James that they had seniority on him, that they’d been in the program for over two years now, nor that they were specialized in combat specifically against his class type. Soldiers could typically take a vanguard or an adept down in face to face combat, so according to logic, James knew that they’d been given the same intensive training against Soldiers as he was now receiving against their class types. It didn’t make him feel better. Together, they could kick his ass, and it frustrated him.

“Hey, wanna do another bet?” he threw out.

Iras paused in her tentative pulsing of her powers. Earlier that day, he spotted Caleb and the adept talking over new amplifiers. With Jack aiding research in new, more powerful amps, the Alliance began churning out new prototypes for those on special assignments to test out. He heard her saying that the side effects were, so far, undiscovered, but that rumors held they could cause intense migraines if the chipset inside of them already predisposed them. She put her hands on her hips.

“What is it with you and betting?” She wrinkled her nose, he could tell even through her visor across the room, a motion that James felt she didn’t know she did. The more he interacted with her, the less intimidating and mysterious she seemed. Gone was the awe of his first day, of seeing someone with martial arts training that rivaled Shepard’s or Scars, but in its place a fascination verging on obsession boiled in his gut.

He couldn’t get enough of making her do that head cock thing she did when annoyed or intrigued.

“It makes things not so boring.” If Iras was one thing, he learned, it was logical. If James gave her a reason for _why_ he did something stupid, she typically went with it. That vein in her personality explained, in some detail, their current situation.

“How do you have time to get bored when I’m trying to flatten you? Or am I not hitting you hard enough?” Her voice edged at the end of that, her eyes starting to glow a bright blue. _Fuuuuuck_.

James held his hands out in front of him in an appeasing gesture. The last thing he wanted was to piss her off before starting. He learned his lesson long ago that a pissed off Iras was bad for his health.

“No, no, it’s not like that. I mean being in the program in general. Every day is the same, day in and day out. Betting makes things different, gives it some spice.”

James could feel her gaze piercing into him from across the room. She cocked her head to the side, a sign he learned meant he had her attention and interest. The days bled together in the Academy, which much they agreed on. Once, he caught Iras skipping all training sessions for the day, just to see what a normal person’s life is like. She ducked out of the academy, and stalked down to the local city. The only reason he found her was that, after her not showing, he and Garrus went for drinks. She’d been sitting back, just watching everyone around her, and James felt confident that she hadn’t registered he was there, or cared.

He still couldn’t the calculating look in her eyes out of his head.

“Okay, what kind of bet?” There it was. That same narrowed, interested, but quickly discerning stare.

James patted at his ammo packs, as he thought just what kind of bet he wanted to do.

“How about a repeat of last time?”

He saw her eyebrows furrow even through her breather helmet.

“Again?”

“Yeah, why not?” There were questions James wanted answers to. He liked to think they knew each other well enough now that it wouldn’t be too much to ask for her to divulge a bit of her past. She still stood as an enigma to him. He only knew that her parents served, that her mother was French, and that she’d served time in solitary, and that she had the inane ability of getting under his skin whenever she felt like it. Parts of James wanted to know what she liked, what she disliked, and most of all he wanted the story about the scars that littered her torso—and the one on her face.

Funny how even having his fingers in her, she still remained a black void of information.

Iras scratched at her chest plate, a nervous habit that she’d been picking up from Athentia.

“What do I get if I win?” she asked.

“What? The terms aren’t good enough? You think you know everything about me? I’m flattered you think I’m that easy, but….?” James asked, holding his arms out. “We all got our secrets, Knuckles. I’m offering you a chance to know mine.”

James wanted to see her reaction. One of the things that troubled James was that Iras never asked questions. She didn’t pry into his personal life, or into his past. They all had their burdens to bare, she said once, and that had been the last of it. But, James wanted her to be curious. He liked to at least know some of the backstory of a person he was about to enter a friends with benefits situation with. After all, he wanted to reassure himself she wouldn’t cut his dick off in the middle of the night. He liked to think she wondered the same.

Iras snorted, and shook her head.

“Fine, James. We’ll play it your way.”

With her all but attempting to murder him the other day, she realized his training needed to be kicked up a few notches. So, from now until the test for his promotion in the program, they would be incorporating full on sparring, hand to hand, and anti-biotic weapons. Nothing to do any real damage, but warp infused rubber bullets, and the smallest grenades that couldn’t hurt a hamster infused with biotic dispersal, were more than in range for the training exercises. James felt the heaviness of his gun in his hand, and idly began to go over his strategy to beat her.

She wouldn’t come at him full strength. She held back for fear of hurting him or cutting the training short by tiring him out too badly. So, taking that into consideration, James squared his shoulders and mentally prepared for the clusterfuck he knew was coming his way.

 

* * *

 

 

James managed to pin Iras down with a barrage of grenades. Towards the end, he decided that being on the defensive with an adept as fast as Iras didn’t do him any good, and instead invested the rest of his artillery in hopes of taking her down once and for all. The new amp that had been given to her decreased cooldown by a good two seconds, according to James’ counting, and that threw a stick into the gears of his plan. But, he was nothing if not flexible, and so his plans changed. Now, Iras was pinned against the floor, a gun pointed to her head, and James struggling to gulp down air.

She wrenched her arm free from under him, and attempted to punch him with her fist glowing a sharp blue, when James smacked her visor with the rifle of his gun.

“Bang, you’re dead.”

Iras seethed, he could see it in the way her eyes narrowed at him, but she plopped her fist down next to her head.

“Remind me to not give you so many grenades, next time,” Iras commented.

“Fat chance.”

“Get off me.”

“You look kinda sexy in your armor, pinned down like this.”

“Yeah, because nothing says ‘fuck me’ like a thick layer of armor, followed up by armored clothe, an environmental protection skin, and armored under suit,” Iras drawled.

“When you say it like that,” James trailed off. He didn’t lie, though, when he said he found her like this unbelievably attractive. He didn’t feel her skin, but the hard metal of her suit against his thighs scraped in his ears as she shifted. If he hadn’t pointed the gun to her head, and effectively ended their session by proclaiming her death, he was certain she would toss him across the gym with a biotic pulse. James didn’t know when it happened, but his prejudice against biotics ebbed away from his brain like a retreating tide.

Then again, how much of a bias against them could he have when he had a kink for asari?

“Earth to James,” Iras’ voice sounded impatient. She thudded her fists against his thighs.

“Oh, come on, you can’t say this isn’t hot.”

Iras shrugged her shoulders, a small chuckle sounding from her helmet. “Never knew you had a thing for chicks in gear, Vega.”

James felt the familiar pull of wanting to push her down into the mat, rip her helmet off, and find a way to fuck her through her armor. She could only tease him so much before his resolved snapped. He played it off, however, and shrugged as well.

“What can I say, a woman who knows how to handle a weapon is sexy.”

“Great, fantastic, now get off of me before I make you,” Iras warned.

Though her tone was still lilting, playful, her eyes had that glint to them that James knew meant business. He slid to the side, easing himself off of her, and she rolled onto her side. She unlatched her helmet with a grunt.

“God, you’re heavy. How much do you fucking weigh?”

“Enough,” he quipped. He’s lost eleven pounds during his time here, though now that Hell was over, he determined to put it back on. Muscle was the one thing James had above everyone else. A walking tank, James could break through any line he wanted to. He needed his power, his strength, to be at full capacity, like it’d been during his time on the Normandy.

Iras pulled her helmet off, and her hair sank down to touch her metal clad shoulders. James resisted the urge to sink his hands into it. He noticed over the last few times they kissed that her hair was softer than he thought it would be. He thought it’d be full of tangles, and course, from the way she insisted on keeping it up and out of her way. Instead, it was soft, easy to run his hands through, and finer textured than he imagined. Iras ran the back of her hand over her forehead, and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well?”

James licked his lips and felt like he’d been caught.

“What?”

“Are you going to start your twenty questions? You won, fair and square. Ask away.”

She crossed her legs and leaned forward on her knees, resting her chin on her fists. James didn’t want to say that he felt she had him on the run from the start. The only reason he won at all was his final, last ditch effort to knock her down, to keep her still. If he failed, she’d be the one in the winner’s circle. He didn’t say any of this because he knew what she’d say, the same thing she always said when he won. It didn’t matter if she almost beat him, it mattered that he beat her. Margins didn’t matter in war. A victory was a victory, no matter how small. Funny, he thought he would’ve gotten that fact down by now after Normandy.

Instead of voicing his concerns, and small self-doubts, he pulled his helmet off as well and scratched the bridge of his nose.

“What made you enlist?” James started off nice and easy. He didn’t want to turn her off by immediately asking the questions he wanted answers to. Iras shut down whenever he delved too deep into the dark spaces she didn’t want light shined into, so, he’d go as slow as possible.

Iras firmed her lips, and all at once she was both looking at him, and through him. She hummed under her breath as she thought, then held her hands out on her knees.

“What other choice did I have? My mother and father both served, dad was a Major, mom a Rear Admiral during the battle of the Citadel. I really didn’t get a chance at another life. Plus, I’m a biotic, James, in case you forgot.” A ropey smile spread over the side of her mouth that wasn’t blunted with the first scar he wanted to ask about. The smile didn’t reach her eyes. James felt his stomach twist a bit, and realized he did sometimes forget she was one. He knew her simply as Iras, and the fact that she had that glowing blue power that so many others he knew did hadn’t occurred to him. She shook her head, and rubbed her forehead with her palm as best she could through her gauntlet. “Civilian life is no place for a biotic. Sure, Shepard’s made things better, but when I was growing up… bad shit happened to biotics. Kids got beat up, grownups got run out of town, and the staring… Fucking hell. There was this one guy down the street from me. His powers didn’t manifest until he was sixteen, and when they did he flipped a car over on accident in anger. No one got hurt, but the way people talked about him was the worst.

“We have to register anyway, why not get the perks of enlisting? We get the medical care we need, we get amps, implants, regular meals, _protection_ , and income—those things aren’t forthcoming out in the real world for people like me.” Iras opened her mouth, as if to add more, but then closed it, her jaw firming. James wanted to know what she had to say, but the darkening of her eyes from steel gray to near graphite made him second guess himself.

“I forgot how bad you guys have it,” James murmured. He knew Essex had a tough childhood, one that forced him into being someone noncommittal, unable to take things seriously, and with a firm wall in place so that no one could get to know the real him. James wondered how many other biotics grew up like that.

Iras shrugged.

“It just means I’m a lifer, like most of my kind.”

_My kind_ rang in James’ ears. He’d heard Shepard use it once or twice, and Alenko repeated it like a mantra whenever he spoke about biotics and the troubles they faced. All at once, Iras and all other biotics seemed just a bit more alien to him than before.

“That makes two of us.”

Iras arched a brow at him, but said nothing. Instead, she bent her head, waiting for him to continue. He hadn’t specified how many questions she had to answer, so he supposed she played along with him until he pressed the wrong nerve.

James mulled over his next question, unsure what other noninvasive inquiries he was permitted.

“How’d you get your accommodation for the academy?” That was innocuous enough. He’d heard Tanaka’s story. His squad got ambushed by the Blood Pack when on a routine run to a colony with supplies. He nearly got his arm ripped off getting a krogan away from a fallen team member, and managed to blow the things head off with a well-timed grenade. James enjoyed listening to other people’s stories from before the war. He liked watching the way people’s faces lit up relaying how they’d done one unbelievable thing after another.

Iras blinked, then laughed, a loud laugh that boomed through the room.

“You really do ask boring questions, don’t you?”

“Hey, you know how I got mine, fair’s fair.”

“I don’t, actually. I haven’t looked too deeply into your personnel file other than your stats and where you served,” Iras picked at the edge of her gauntlet, a frown on her face. She had a scratch that hadn’t been there before, and James was prepared for her to demand him to repair it. But, she didn’t, and instead proceeded to act distracted.

That sounded like a question without asking a question if he ever heard one. James repressed the smile at her clear curiosity. Maybe she was more interested than he gave her credit for.

“You first.”

“Fine,” Iras rolled her eyes and sat back on her hands. “I’m sure you’re aware that most biotics are used as frontline shock troops. Well, during my first two years, I was sent to the Terminus system more times than I would have liked. I got used to serving on slum planets in the vicinity of Omega or Ilium. Well, the Blue Suns had managed to corner one particular colony, newly started, fresh on the map. It was going to be a technology centered colony, where the Alliance could test out new weaponry, and had easy access to Titanium and Platinum. Well, when the Blue Suns started shelling the place, trying to kill the workers, and take over the plant, they sent us in. We didn’t have near enough man power for the mission, and whoever decided that only six people could take down a near battalion sized team of technology savvy, armor wearing, mech commanding assholes needs to get fired. Long story short, we had the majority of them on the run after we activated the plants internal defensive grid, commanding it to target anything not tagged as Alliance personnel, when they sent in heavy mech’s.

“My Soldier went down almost instantly, idiot got caught out in the open and a grenade lodged in his armor. I had just mastered Charge, wasn’t sure if I wanted to be an adept or vanguard yet, and had slapped some major explosives on it, when I saw it targeting our injured Infiltrator. I had no choice but to distract it right up until it blew. Shrapnel cut my face clean open,” she gestured to the scar that ran the length of her face, from her eye to her chin, the one that blunted off her lip. “I got the damn purple heart _and_ an invitation from Anderson.”

James could just see Iras running up to a heavy mech, slathering it with whatever explosives she could find, before discovering she had to stay put and keep it from killing more of her squad. He pictured the flow of profanities that came out of her mouth that day, a litany of every curse word in every language she knew, and it made him cough to cover a laugh.

“What about you, Vega?”

James paused. He scraped his hand over his quickly settling stubble, enjoying the feel of the cold metal against his skin. Iras sat there with her knees up, feet pressed together, and her hands on her ankles. She had an expectant look, and James liked the way it smoothed her usually furrowed brows. He swallowed, and tried to think of a way to dance around the topic.

“It’s… not really a good story.”

She looked like she wanted to say something, to somehow admonish him, but he felt her calculating the look on his face. He wondered if he turned ashen, if the blood rushed from his face like he felt it was. The story of how he got his commendation was not a story told lightly. Hell, it took him almost a month to feel comfortable enough with Shepard to tell her. James wondered what was different between the two women. Why had he felt so comfortable telling Shepard what happened on Fehl Prime, versus now, which felt like if he told Iras he’d be setting his still beating heart on a slab of rock in front of her, waiting to see if she stabbed it or not. Her eyes narrowed on him, and James realized too much time had passed.

She looked away from him, breaking the awkward staring they’d engaged in, and looked towards the door.

“Well? You going to keep asking questions, or what?”

Iras didn’t prod. The one thing that unnerved James about her, the seeming disinterest in delving into him, into his brain, into what made him tick, was at that moment a lifeline in a churning ocean.

James frowned at himself, disappointed that he let his shame hold him back. But, every time he opened his mouth to tell her, to say that he’d lost a colony, that he lost his squad, for information that did jack shit a week later when Shepard took out the Collector base, his mouth dried up and his tongue went numb. It wasn’t that he still felt like he’d let everyone down, that he was a failure. He realized now, with some distance, that he couldn’t have known that Shepard was out doing her savoir of the galaxy thing. There was no way for him to have known, and he couldn’t hold himself responsible for a decision that he’d made while in ignorance. No, for some reason, the thought of telling Iras the story filled him with a kind of icy dread he didn’t understand.

James thanked whatever god existed that he still wore his gloves, because he could feel the sweat wicking away into the absorbing fabric.

He opened his mouth a few times, watched as she peered at him in anticipation, and flopped his hands on his knees.

“How’d you get the scar on your stomach?”

He felt lame. He wanted to know why she served time in solitary. He wanted to know when she signed up for Delta. He wanted to know about her ex-husband. He wanted to know so many other things than the raised, taught skin that ran across her abdomen.

She blinked at him, as if surprised, and another smile snaked its way over her face.

“Do you have a fetish or something?”

“What? No!” Though, James couldn’t deny he found the scars on female soldiers incredibly hot. Thanks to his time in the Alliance Navy, he now found unmarked skin somewhat disturbing. He expected to find dimples, craters, dips, and mountains on the few women he decided to bed, and those that didn’t have them made him feel like he was soiling them.

Iras sucked on her lower lip a bit. James marveled at the sharpness of her incisors, almost like fangs, but not quite, and he instinctively rubbed the nape of his neck where she’d bit him the other day. No wonder it hurt like a bitch.

“My husband tried to murder me.”

James didn’t make a noise. Instead, it felt like the air had been sucked from the room. Gone was the semblance of a grin from her face, and instead was a mask of calm. Devoid of emotion, her eyes tucked down to stare at the mat as he fingers wrung in front of her, legs crossing in front of her. All at once, she looked small and frail.

“What…? Why?” James breathed, disbelieving. Sure, he grew up in a situation where he feared his father’s fury. He ran and ran, and he supposed his career in the military was his way of still fleeing from his father’s ire. But, to hear it from someone else, to see the same dejected but furious gleam in Iras’ eyes as his own whenever he thought of his supposed parent, made a sick thrill clench his chest. Though they all lost, and feared, during the war, violence from a trusted person, a parent or spouse, left a different kind of wound.

“He defected to Cerberus. We don’t know when he did, but Hackett didn’t learn of it until after the battle of the Citadel. Hackett told me, told me to get my shit out of the house we shared, and to high tail it back to the ship so that I could be safe, and that they could take him into custody. But, with how strange he’d been acting, I dunno…” Iras’ tone shook a bit, but she cleared her throat. She rubbed her eyes with her palms in an attempt to not look at James. “I think he defected long before that. I confronted him. He attacked me. He was… is… a vanguard, and had one of those stupid swords on him at all times. He just about ran me through,” she pointed to her side, where her ribs met her shoulder blade.

“Took me three months to recover from the attack, two weeks of which they had to repair my ruptured lung.”

James wanted to say he was sorry, but he knew it wasn’t his place to apologize. He wasn’t the one that hurt her. He didn’t cut her like a piece of meat and turn his back on his whole race in favor of some glowing eyed lunatic. No, he knew that his pity now would only shut down the buzzing air between them.

“That’s rough… he’s an asshole.”

Iras coughed, then wheezed a laugh at James. She sat up, her eyes red, and her smile finally lighting up the rest of her face.

“Yeah, he was.”

“Tell me he had a small dick.”

Iras barked out another laugh and pressed her forehead into her hand. “Not as big as yours, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

“Good. Because I only do the good kind of stabbing.”

“Good kind?”

James figured that their game was done, and instead began to shoot out jokes to get that puffy eyed look off of his adepts face. She leaned against the wall behind her, and gave him a lazy once over.

“Thanks for that, James. You’re the first person I’ve told this to, other than Hackett.”

James ignored the swell of pride in his gut. He ignored the way her messy hair, and that pathetic look, made him want to smother her pain in other sensations. He avoided the feelings bubbling in his stomach because he knew that it’d set him on the way to breaking their fifth rule of their arrangement: don’t develop feelings. So, instead, he nodded and said:

“No problem. It’s what I’m good for.”


	14. Full of Calm and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, guys. Been super busy with my senior year of college. Anyway! This is the chapter where Iras and James finally have sex. They'd been dancing around the topic for almost a month, and with Iras' upcoming prolonged mission, she doesn't see any reason why they should wait anymore. Meanwhile, why does Joker still have EDI's body, and who's the new kid poking around, trying to restore the AI to her old personality. Could restoring EDI be the way to waking up the derelict Reaper? Could it possibly revive the Geth?

 

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**Full of calm and fire**

Time off hadn’t been kind to Joker. Sure, he got a nice raise, one large enough that his salary now rivaled any other officer he ran into, but it wasn’t about the money. The hurt, the ache he felt deep down, even over the last eleven months since the war ended, hadn’t been excised. Instead, it festered. It burrowed deeper and deeper into him, until every day felt like the hyperjump when they fled the Collectors. Broken ribs, though, had nothing on this. Physical pain eventually faded. It laced its way through the wound, but as it closed, and bones knitted, it dissipated with the covered up smart. Emotional pain, the kind that drove deep into someone’s brain and sat there, like a cancer that bled out into the surrounding tissue.

Though they had their peace, though the galaxy was safe, EDI was dead.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Sometimes, it makes them keener, sharper, and deeper. Each day that Joker woke up to an empty bed, a quiet apartment, and a silent Normandy, he felt that ache bore down harder. He refused to bury EDI’s body, not like the rest of his friends that died that day. Unlike his friends, EDI was special. Unlike his friends, EDI was different.

He couldn’t forget the way her circuitry had given a loud, almost scream like whir when the wave hit the Normandy. She hadn’t made much noise, a quick gasp, or what he prescribed as a gasp—could AI’s gasp? Then, she fell to the floor with a loud thunk, and all assistance Joker received in the flight from the exploding Mass Effect Relay vanished with EDI. Joker used to comment on how he could tell when she died. Not only in how the Normandy handled, but in how the air went still around him, and everything became quiet. In that moment, he’d panicked, and though he couldn’t look away from his screens or he would get everyone else killed, he wanted to look over his shoulder where she had been attempting to stabilize the overheating core.

Joker would never forget how… artificial she looked in death. When alive, EDI articulated her body’s skin, gave it live, and made it move as if it were like a human’s. When she passed… it looked like the hull of a computer. And, like a computer, for the first six months Joker endeavored to find a backup to EDI’s files. Like a computer, there had to be a way to restore her manually.

But, his time spent trying to revive his lost love got in the way of his time as a pilot. So, Joker had to choose: bring EDI back, somehow, someway, or continue to pilot the Normandy now that it’d been fully recomissioned.

He still kept EDI’s body in the AI core, and he still had Traynor researching on the backburner ways to restart defunct AI. The war took EDI from him, but he refused to let it take the Normandy. After all, with Shepard still in the hospital-she needed another four months before the doctors released her to Garrus and her new swank digs-and the other crew members flown into the seven winds, the Normandy was all Joker had left. He wouldn’t be deprived of it.

Joker swung his legs over the side of the Med-bay bed, nursing a smarting knot on his right leg. Hackett ordered him to go through weapon training at regular intervals since the war ended, and the last kick back from a rifle had just about knocked his knee clean off when it smacked into the firing range partition.

Doctor Chakwas sighed, but gave him as bright of a smile as she could manage. Peace had been kinder to her, but Joker could see the same wear on her as he felt in his bones. Time was not kind.

“Looks like it’s just a small hairline fracture, Joker. Just don’t go around slamming yourself into any more walls anytime soon, and you should be fine.”

“No promises, Doctor. You know how I like to party.”

“Yes, and yet somehow I’m not concerned,” she chuckled. “If you continue dancing like a crazed loon, however, I might have to rescind my statement.”

“Still can’t believe Shepard recorded that.”

“Who says it was Shepard? James Vega’s the one that got it on camera, Shepard was merely the one to point it out to him.” Chakwas let out a long, pleased sound as she leaned back in her chair. A wistful, peaceful mood settled over her form. “For all the craziness that happened, I do miss the family.”

Joker nodded. He tried not to look over his shoulder to the AI core. He tried to ignore the memory that Chakwas stirred up, of watching EDI dance along with the other pulsing bodies in Purgatory.

“Tali’s doing well,” Joker offered.

“I’ve heard. I can’t believe our little girl is engaged already.”

Joker scoffed, and rubbed the bottom of his nose with the back of his index finger. “Well, the quarian’s can’t exactly dawdle around. They did almost get wiped out. Gotta replenish the ranks,” he said.

The news was all over intranet news. Tali, one of the heroes that served under Shepard, became betrothed within six months after the war. With her background, her prestige, and her reputation, the quarians all but saw Tali as a kind of royalty, and the pomp that came with the future marriage of the now second highest ranking Admiral in quarian space deserved to be shouted to the heavens.

“Well, one can hardly blame them,” Chakwas said.

Joker wanted to talk about something else. Whenever they spoke about the old crew, it always turned to memories that held EDI. For the last three years she had been a core part of his life. The Normandy felt like a shell of itself without her. Her fingerprints no longer lined every inch of the circuits of the ship, the drives no longer hummed in just the right frequency. No, talking about anything having to do with Shepard, or the old family, brought Joker’s chest to a painful twist.

Chakwas noted his pained expression, and tapped her fingers against her arm.

“Jeffery… You really should take Doctor Karliah up on her offer.”

“I don’t need a shrink,” he all but spat. The fact of the matter was that every officer on the Normandy had been ordered to undergo therapy. PTSD ran rampant during the time after the war, and suicides were still a major concern. Joker would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Sure, the sexy robot with a near indestructible body got taken out by a magic wave of energy, but the boy with glass bones still lived. That made all the sense in the world.

The doctor frowned, but didn’t push the issue. Instead, she motioned him off the table, a quiet insistence that being in her office would do him no more good. She knew that he wanted to head into the AI core, to check on the new tech expert that they’d picked up on the last run through Omega. She knew that he wanted to see if he managed to find something that Joker missed. She didn’t want him to get his hopes up.

Joker sulked his way out of the med bay, and into the painfully empty hallways of the Normandy. For such a high class frigate, Joker always marveled at how small a crew they got away with having. He limped his way towards the elevator, and tried to stamp down the gnawing in his chest that there was someone other than him poking around at his dead girlfriend’s body.

He didn’t know what he expected the kid to find. Joker found backup files already, but when they reconnected them to the Normandy’s interface, all they got back was a drone of static. Every backup they found afterwards was alike that, even all the way to the VI interface that had gone rogue on Luna all those years ago. Still, hope springs eternal—even within the brittle bones of Jeff ‘Joker’ Monroe.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras couldn’t move. Her whole body felt like solid ice, chilled and shivering, as she watched the flood of reaper slaves swarm the battlefield. They broke upon the ramparts like a great tide, scrambling with this glowing, hobbled fingers up and over the barriers. Her squad had fire power, plenty of it, but they weren’t a match for the sheer numbers of Husks rushing at them. She tried to shout coherent orders, to keep her men calmer than she felt, but all that came out was whispered garbage into a silent receiver. Jenkins went down, his rifle blasting through a Husk’s soft skull, only to be dragged down by three others. She watched as they hit, punched, and bit at him. His screams filled her ears, clear as day even over the deafening sound of mortar, hissing of energy burn, and the crumbling of shattered buildings around her.

She spun around, finally able to move after watching Jenkins arm come clean off his shoulder, armor ripping and blood spraying every which way. She attempted to power up her biotic abilities, tried to focus her powers into a solid pulse around them to give her squad some breathing room, but it fizzled. It rebound on her with a sharpness she could taste in her mouth, like copper, and she staggered with the force she was denied.

The Brute, the damn Brute, came like it always did. It barreled down on Hinojosmith, its clubbed arms raised over its head even as her squad mate riddled it with shot after shot. He yelled her name until she heard it break with his ribcage. Bone shards scattered with each smack of the Brute’s arms, and soon the screaming was replaced with a sick schlup over her communicator. Blind fury filled her, made her sight go white, and a burn started to coat her whole body.

She surrendered to the pulsing under her skin, the humming in her head, and anger the likes of which she only felt once before filled her being. A feeling like raining glass, trickling, sharp, and tingling cascaded her scalp, even as she screamed. The Brute turned on her, and the shriek of a Banshee somewhere off in the distance rattled the battlefield of London.

Iras woke with a shout, and her room filled with a bright blue pulse that raced out from her bed, illuminating her quarters in sharp relief. Her body shuddered, like a cornered toy poodle, and she brought her quivering hands to her eyes. Her vision blurred, and she tried to convince herself the burning in her eyes was from the sweat trailing down her temples and soaking her sheets.

“Fuck…” she hissed.

It’d been a month since her last flashback. She thought, with faltering hope, that maybe she had moved on, that her brain let go of that night in London. But, she supposed she hadn’t. She bit hard into her lower lip, enough to draw a small amount of blood to replace the acrid taste of terror in her throat. The alarm clock just across from her blared the ungodly hour of four o’clock in the morning.

She took in deep, cold breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. But, it would seem her horror at that night almost a year ago would not be quelled. Instead, as the time ticked by, the dawn drawing closer, she became more restless in the confines of her sheets. Her limbs went from prickling with terror, to numb, and listless. She rolled onto her side, throwing the sheets off, and glared at the wall opposite.

Iras wanted to be able to reassure herself that it was over. The Reapers were dead, Shepard saved their asses, and she was just having a common mental break that happened to soldiers returning from war. She knew better, though. The knowledge that the Suns had a Reaper corpse somewhere out there, and were doing who knows what on it, made her stomach twist.

“Damn it!” She guessed sleep was no longer an option. She sat up, scoured her eyes with her palms, and entertained the prospect of walking James up. Neither of them had yet to take full advantage of their tryst-she wanted him focused on his test in three days, after all, she didn’t need him distracted any more than he already was-and she wondered how he’d react to being invited into her room this early. _Probably not well_ , Iras smiled at the picture of James, half asleep, in her doorway with a disgruntled pout.

Just as she made her way into her sitting quarters, about to turn the television to static in order to zone-out, her communicator buzzed and blipped. She stopped, stared at it, and scowled. Only one man had that frequency. She scratched at her neck, debating answering it at this hour, and wondering just what it would do to her already harried mind. But, being the good soldier she was, she dropped her misgivings and flicked the signal open.

Hackett’s face flickered into view.

“Sorry to wake you, Bennet. I need to speak with you immediately.”

Iras’ stomach twisted to where she worried for the safety of her innards. She gnawed on the side of her lip.

“No problem, sir. What… what about?”

“I’d rather not discuss it over this channel. Meet me in Acker's office in ten.”

“I just woke up, sir,” Iras attempted insolence, but all that escaped was a small whine. She knew what this was about. She felt it in her bones, her very soul screamed out that this involved the corpse of some ancient machine that they lost track of. She swallowed, ignoring the swelling of her throat and the watering of her mouth. The panic of her dream returned, swallowing her whole and making her legs feel like they were glued to the spot.

Hackett seemed to see her visible distress, but chose to avoid mentioning it. Instead, he narrowed his eyes on her, and a flicker of sympathy creased his brows.

“I’ll give you twenty, then. Get a cup of coffee, and meet me as fast as you can.”

Iras gave a hapless nod. She disliked the way that the mere mention of a Reaper, this far out from the war, made those damn sirens shriek in her ears. Hackett’s face faded from view, and was replaced instead by the persistent flash of the fight in London. Iras buried her face in her palms, standing stock still, and tried to snap herself out of it. She took deep breaths, the kinds her therapist said to take, and tried to think of something other than the final battle. Instead of helping, the increased airflow into her noise brought the wafting stench of burning flesh and the sharp, metallic sting of blood into her nostrils.

The last thing she wanted was Hackett worrying about her again. Ever since her father’s death he’d been a busybody. She tried to think of a way to play off the evident attack when she got there, but she was absorbed with trying not to vomit.

“Damn it!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey! Vega!”

James paused in latching on his gauntlets. He turned to see Tanaka jogging up, his helmet clenched in his hand. The kid’s usual immaculate hair flew every which way, and there were sweat lines from where the helmet had just sat. The morning started off peaceful enough, with physical training and heavy arms warfare they were put their paces in a way that James could keep up with. Here, on the grass, in the open, with guns and muscles and people to yell at, James was in his element. Here, he felt at home. He knew how to do this kind of stuff. He knew how to analyze a battlefield, to vault over cover and dash into the next, and how to set off a big ass explosion. Unlike in his training with Iras, he never felt off kilter when in this section of the base.

“Hey, what’s up?” James asked. He had just finished taking his fifteen minute break from the live fire arena style training. He eyed the clock that hovered in the air just above them, blaring the amount of time he had left to catch his breath and redo his armor.

Tanaka wiped his forehead, and then motioned towards where a few of their instructors stood. One of which was holding a data pad that just screamed _I’m important_.

“The test times for the N3 qualification rounds came up, finally. Go see when you’re up. I wanna know if we’re on the same day!”

James snorted, but rolled a shoulder and started padding over to the N7’s in question. Within the last two months, more and more of the surviving N7’s were rolling in. With the Relays all but repaired-and with the Citadel working hard to create a system that linked them all up like before, without the pesky interference of Reaper technology-the cream of the crop were finally back in the academy. With their return, James heard murmurs that the old instructors were about to be retired, and sent off on missions that they had to neglect while waiting for the rest of the crew to show back up.

James bit his cheek to stop the nerves washing over him. He couldn’t let Tanaka see how rattled he was by this particular test. He heard from Iras that they would probably test his ability to hold his own against biotics again, and he didn’t relish the thought of going against a full on N7. Knuckles was bad enough, he didn’t need someone even better than her ripping him a new one.

James came before the instructors. One was a woman that had seen better days. She was gaunt, with high cheekbones and sunken features, and her skin was a sallow. She eyed James, her hard brown eyes narrowing on him.

“Yes, lieutenant?”

“Uh, my friend here says that the times for the N3 tests are posted?” James didn’t like the way she looked at him. Unlike Shepard or Bennet, her eyes didn’t just look straight through him, to what he really was, but ripped into every corner, every crevice, and laid him flayed in the sun. She scowled, her jaw tightening and forming a hard line through what James assumed was scar corrected skin.

“Yes, they have. Rank and file,” her partner interceded. Where the woman was dower, he was light. His platinum blond hair glared in the sun, and his pale features marked him as either German or very, very American.

“First lieutenant James Vega, formerly under Commander Shepard of the Normandy,” James bit back the small edge of pride in his voice. The eyes of the woman before him sharpened on him even further, and James thought he could hear her teeth grinding. The male instructor blinked, then beamed at him.

“I heard we had a member of Shepard’s crew here! Didn’t know it was you, lieutenant. Always a pleasure to meet a crew member of the Normandy. Great work you guys did that day!”

“Kyle, his test times.”

Times? Plural? Fuck.

“Oh! Right!” the marine named Kyle clapped his hands and took the pad from the impatient hands of his partner. He flicked his way through the other candidates, his lips pursing. Finally, he made a small jump, a triumph noise, and said with a happy bark, “your test is in three days. Report to the shuttle pad at 0500 hours. Your first test proctor will be yours truly,” Kyle mock bowed.

“I will be your second proctor. Your third proctor will remain a mystery until you arrive onto the testing ground for the third leg of the test,” the woman quipped.

Kyle waved his hand at her.

“Don’t be so hard on the guy, Marian. Geez, we just got here a month ago and you’re still so tense.”

“You could treat the recruits with more… dissociation.”

“Debby downer.”

“You have your test time, get back to it, lieutenant!” Marian snapped. She uncrossed her arms, and James realized just how powerfully she was built. Unlike the lithe, lean lines of the adepts and vanguards he had been associating with lately, his fellow soldier was built like a tank. Her shoulders were wide, and tapered into her hips in a broad v. No fat existed on her body, her hips were narrow and small, while her arms put her partners muscle structure to shame.

James firmed his lips, saluted, and turned on his heel. Tanaka met him on the edge of the training grounds, just as the clock blinked a giant red zero. They shoved their helmets on and dashed for the nearest cover. The grounds were arranged in three layers, and depending on your score in the previous rounds was if you got to have the top, middle, or bottom level. Though the top level brought with it better cover, and superior sniping range, it had far fewer places to hide, and what was there often had double blind corners. The middle stationed its two entrances in a bottleneck, but was too enclosed for its own good. Those that got the highest marks got to be on the bottom, with superior quality cover, more maneuvering room, and a larger overall area. James had only been forced into the middle tier once before, and he never wanted it again. He remembered how tight those corners were, and if someone came up on your ass you were screwed.

Tanaka ducked right as James started yelling orders to the rest of his mock squad. James wanted to succeed, though, at his test and the rest of his time in the academy. The longer he was here, the more his self confidence rose. Before, he saw himself as a piece of meat, expendible, nothing worth noting when standing next to giants like Shepard, T’soni, Scars, and Alenko. Now, the longer he stayed and became stronger, the more James thought he was worth something. The searing words of his father, of a childhood spent being browbeaten and tread on, were slowly starting to fade from his mind. In its place were the words of his leaders, of Shepard, of Iras, of Scars, saying he was worth a damn.

He wanted to prove them right. He wanted to prove himself right. For the first time since arriving, James looked forward to one of the advancement tests.

It also helped that his adept would finally let him go all the way.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras gritted her teeth in front of Admiral Hackett. He swept a glance over her before setting down the data pad he’d been discussing. Sure enough, the subject she dreaded and stressed over for the last couple of months came from his lips the second she walked in the door earlier that morning. The Suns still had a corpse, but this time they had a potential location.

The Suns were covering their ass. Every step closer the Alliance got, they advanced two more. Every base they raided ended up empty, or a base that clearly had never housed the damn Reaper. This level of counter-intelligence was unheard of for the group, and had most in the loop in Alliance brass on edge. The nagging suspicion of an old, seeming defeated enemy bit at their heels. Though no proof existed, Iras was in good company in wondering if Cerberus had died with the Elusive Man, or merely changed hands. The destruction of the home base by Shepard and her squad had put the kielbash on them, sure, but a good chunk of field agents had been away from the base at the time. Who was to say that some radical crazed loon couldn’t revive the old lines of communication? With the marooning of the other races on Earth, the human centric mindset had spread an alarming degree. Iras wouldn’t be surprised at this point if Cerberus was back, and more insane than ever.

Well… maybe not as insane as when they had an indoctrinated, glowing eyed madman at the helm.

She shifted in her chair, and glared at the desk in front of her.

“Are you okay, Bennet?”

Iras glanced up. She realized she’d been picking at her cuticles again, a sign of her acute stress from lack of sleep and abrupt trigger earlier that morning. She wondered how ashen she looked, how pale.

“Fine, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me, kid. I’ve known you since you were ten,” Hackett reminded her. If he had been capable of it, she was sure he would sit on the edge of the desk and try to imitate her father during one of their talks. Flashbacks of her time spent on Hackett’s old warship came to mind. Back then, on long deployments, if a person was stationed on one of the first class war cruisers, they were allowed to bring limited family. Her father and mother both served under Hackett, and she spent a small chunk of her pre-teen years aboard the large vessel.

She tried to remember how Hackett looked before all the grey hair, before the scar that ran up his mouth. Her memories were clouded by the fantastic sight out the portholes, the hum of an old eezo core, and the buzz of over two hundred hands going about their daily duties. Instead, she gave him a weak smile, her fingers flexing against one another.

“New uniform?” she asked, dodging the question.

Hackett looked over his arms. “How could you tell?”

“Your old one always had this one snag you never fixed, right here,” Iras pointed to where his bars were located, and smirked when he glanced to where she motioned. “Did no one ever mention it?”

His icy eyes turned on her, and she sighed. She recognized that look. “Don’t change the subject. I’m serious. You looked terrible.”

“Maybe because you called me at four in the morning?”

“Don’t be glib. Your mother taught you better.”

Iras wanted to sass him right back, but her years of military training held her back. She wasn’t a kid hitching a ride on his ship anymore. She served directly under him. She answered his beck and call, went where he said, shot who he ordered to shoot, and took the hill when he said take the hill. She pursed her lips.

“I didn’t sleep good.”

“Well, you didn’t sleep well,” he corrected.

“ _Now_ you sound like mom,” she chuckled.

Hackett let the sentiment hang in the air. Iras remembered when he came to her just after the Third Fleet went down in the Battle of the Citadel. The shock of being told her mother had been killed by a sentient, massive robot hell bent on summoning its buddies to kill all sentient life smart enough to put up a fight had sent her reeling. She didn’t believe him. She spent a good month resenting him, bucking under his command on his ship, and demanding liberty in order to drink herself silly. Now that she thought on it, she supposed if grief hadn’t clouded her vision she might have seen Fredrick’s betrayal mere months later coming. Instead, she’d been so absorbed in her own impetuous grief she didn’t stop to think, didn’t stop to see. Now, she knew better. That didn’t stop the barb twisting in her chest whenever her mother was mentioned.

Though now proud of her mother’s sacrifice, she still occasionally longed for her to be back in Iras’ life. Time lessened the brunt of the ache, but it didn’t take it away completely.

“I have news of your cousin, if you want to hear it,” Hackett broke the silence first.

“What, that she’s seeing a turian general that had been under her care at the hospital?” Iras laughed, attempting to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere that mentioning the dead always brought. She shifted in her chair, cleared her throat, and tented her fingers. “What do you want me to do about the current situation, sir?”

Hackett acknowledged the shift, and stood straighter. His blue admiral suit seemed to suck in the light of the room, with the dawn just barely peeking over the horizon, and the artificial bulbs buzzing above them, Iras thought he looked all the part of the war hero he was. She was biased, though. The man was a second father figure, after all. He could probably oversee a massive military failure and she would still defend him to her dying breath.

He ducked around Acker’s desk, and picked up his own data pad.

“There’s no way of going around it. Any and all attempts to externally penetrate the Suns has failed. We’re going to have to put a mole into their organization.”

“That’s a risk.”

“A risk we have to take. We can’t allow the Suns to revive the Reapers. We can’t have a repeat of the war. We don’t have the manpower anymore, we’d be goners for sure.”

Iras heaved a large sigh. Suddenly, she felt very tired. She wanted to sleep, to curl up in her bed and just doze off until this whole thing blew over.

“A deep cover operation like this would take time, sir. At least two months in order to earn the trust of the mercs, and then who knows how long to work their way up to a high enough rank to figure out where the Reaper corpse is being held,” Iras countered. She didn’t like where this was going. Though a soldier, she didn’t relish the thought of being forced into a role she didn’t want.

“And that’s why we’re busy creating an ironclad identity for you.”

“Me?” Iras pretended to cough, pretended to be shocked. She sat up in her chair, having slumped as he went on about the particulars of deep cover.

“Yes, you, Bennet. You’re the one deepest in this with me. The less people we bring into this, the less chance the populace hears about it and panics. Plus, you’re a member of Delta, this is what your squad does.”

 “Former, sir, past tense. I took a sabbatical after the war. We all did.” She didn’t know where the other half of her squad was. The ones that she didn’t bring on her missions handed to her by the academy were scattered to the solar winds. They all needed time apart, time to work out what had happened, and what they wanted out of the rest of their lives. Iras didn’t blame them. As time dragged on, though born a military brat, she wondered if she could be like Hackett or her parents. She questioned what she told James, that she was a lifer, and whether it was true.

Hackett frowned, and Iras got to see firsthand how the war had aged him. More wrinkles lined his face, the scar over his lips was now deeper set, redder, angrier. His eyes had faded, lost some of their sharp blueness to be replaced with a dull grey. He scratched the tip of his nose, and let out a frustrated noise.

“I know. If there were anyone else I could pawn this job off on, don’t think I wouldn’t. All the other N7’s need a break, they’re reaching their shattering point. The rest of Delta doesn’t have your specific training. Caleb is too entrenched in the operations of the Academy to leave. James Vega is too well known, and Shepard is still hold up in the hospital, and she might never get back into full fighting shape again. It has to be you, Bennet. I’m…” Hackett snorted, and looked away, “sorry.”

Iras felt numb again. Flashes of Jump Zero disintegrating danced in front of her eyes, and the knowledge that those damn robots and their fucking thanix cannons could come back weighed her stomach into the core of the earth. She scowled, and wanted to refuse. Hell, why should she have to do this? She had something good going here. She had friends. She had family. She had… something… going on with James. But…

“How long would I be gone, sir, and how much time do I have to prepare?” Iras asked, her voice small and strained.

“At least four months, and we’re still creating your backstory. You have a while before you go.”

Iras scrubbed her eyes with her palms.

“I was about to request a test for the N6 rank…” she muttered.

“If you get this done, Bennet, I’ll make this mission your test. The Alliance would owe you that much.”

She thanked him for the accommodation. Truthfully, she’d wanted to show off. Berkley had been riding her about how he didn’t see any improvement in her biotics since she came back when the academy reopened. She wanted to send the asshole flying with a burst so strong he would know what a couple minutes of acceleration in gravity felt like when he hit the ground. She listened to Hackett start to lay out the rest of the mission perimeters. He didn’t have much to go on, since the Suns security was a bit too tight to be natural for a mercenary group, so he’d wanted to get her acceptance before he went much further. As it stood, she would enter the Suns from an outpost on Ilium, her old stomping grounds. Though her face was somewhat well known, he would put in her file that she was Cat6’d after the war, which she had a psychotic break and terminated from service, and was looking for ways to make money while still using her training.

She voiced her concern that using her own personal identity might make her a target for Suns retaliation in the future. Hackett nodded, and said that he and his team would work on a way to work around her small amount of fame. Maybe Omega would make a better starting ground… Aria did still owe Shepard, and the Alliance, some major favors due to giving her the space station back.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras managed to get dismissed before the sun set. With a mission this big, this important, they needed every detail hammered out before they moved in. Currently, Hackett had his best experts working on her new identity, giving her a good underground reputation, credits to match her supposed criminal activity, and the like. Within a month, she’d be on her way to Ilium, where she would hang around until the Suns noticed her presence. The idea of leaving the academy for that long made her neck tense up, and her hands sweat. She didn’t like not being able to watch the progress of those under her, of seeing the new recruits for Hell coming in, or of seeing if Tanaka and James passed their N4’s.

Iras leaned against a wall just outside of the tactical branch of the academy. She shut her eyes, rested her head against the concrete, and tried to force out that roiling in her brain. There was never a moments for rest, was there? From Jump Zero, to the War, to London, to squashing local gangs from taking advantage of the chaos after the Reapers defeat, and now this, she just felt so overwhelmed. The world kept spinning, but she felt like her life had come to a standstill. She drowned in the oppression, her stress causing her temples to start pounding in time with her heartbeat.

 _Fuck._ She could really use a drink. Maybe she would open up her good Scotch once she got back to the barracks. If she got back to the barracks. As it stood, she didn’t know why she was hanging around in the middle of the quietest part of the base, with the main entrance to the tactical and recognizance building around the corner, and the garden a good eighth of a mile walk away. Maybe she needed the peace.

Iras slid down the wall to sit on the plush, subtropical grass underfoot.

A nagging in her ear told her the real reason she was loitering around. This time of day was when James was let out of his tech training, and when he got let loose for the rest of the day. She wanted to see him. A part of her wondered if James could make her feel better. Every time she’d been super stressed out, he managed to calm her temper, to quell the squall of her over busy brain.

She denied this truth until she main door opened, and James came around the corner, headed to the barracks. She even denied it when it he stopped, cocked his head at her, and arched an eyebrow.

“What’re you doing way out here, Bennet?”

His voice rushed over her raw nerves, soothing them, and she hated him just a little for it.

Iras rested her chin on her knees. She debated telling him about the mission, about the stress of being one of twenty people who knew about the Suns and the corpse. But, she didn’t to burden him. He carried the weight of proving himself within the program, of giving himself worth other than being a marine that served under Shepard, and he was doing that job fantastically. The last thing Iras desired was to make his load heavier.

“Waiting for you,” at least that was the truth.

“C’mon, Knuckles, you’ll make me blush talking like that,” James teased. He glanced around, as if trying to assure himself that no one else could see them. Iras noticed him doing that more often lately, and she decided that James had the subtlety of a giant iron bull. The more often he did it, the more conspicuous he would become to the others. Though, at the moment, the way he shoved his hands in his pockets to appear calmer than he was, or the way he still occasionally looked around like they were committing a bank heist, was endearing.

“Good. You look cute when you blush,” she teased.

“You going to just sit in the dirt all night, or you going to walk with me back to the barracks?”

James’ glance didn’t escape Iras. The way his gaze flicked over her, then back around, as if just looking at her with the hunger in his eyes was going to give them away. She mulled over why it was that whenever James was around, she didn’t feel as stressed out, or as overwhelmed. It tumbled around inside of her brain as he waited for an answer, his brows furrowing more and more with impatience. When finally it seemed he would just leave her to brood, she stood up, patting her rear free of the dirt and grass.

She thought too much. It was a fault that she learned long before Fredrick, and picked up while in her alone time on Hackett’s ship as a kid. So, she threw caution into the wind, glanced around as well, before gripping James’ shirt in her fists and pushing him towards the wall she’d been leaning on. She liked her privacy, and so after learning from Caleb his camera trick, she did it whenever she wanted alone time away from the prying eye of the Alliance. So didn’t fear the red light watching as James’ back hit the wall, or fear the recorded sound as he let out a surprised grunt.

James caught on quickly enough, and that was a trait Iras appreciated more than she let on. Despite his self-depreciation to the contrary, the kid was sharp. He adapted to situations faster than most, and in the seconds before her mouth was over his after pushing him against the wall, he had his hands on her hips, holding her firmly in place. Whereas normally she allowed James to take control during their time together, she was the one that rushed in. She poured all of her anxious energy into wrapping her arms around James’ neck, attempting to close whatever distance separated them. He allowed it, and his soft puffs of breath against her face whenever she gave him a chance to breathe were hot and damp against her face.

She bit his lower lip, just hard enough for him to start and let out a low growl of warning.

“Much as I like you being this aggressive, Knuckles, mind if we take this somewhere more private?”

James hands slid around her hips to grip at her rear, molding her hard enough against his hips that she felt the burgeoning erection pressed into her stomach.

Iras gave him a glib look. “Depends, did you buy condoms?”

James’ eyes lit up, and he moved his mouth like someone rendered without voice. He let out a low noise before wincing. Iras felt his erection throb between them before he wrapped his arms around her, his teeth threatening the nape of her neck.

“You can’t just tease me like that, Bennet.”

“Says the biggest tease I know…Who says I’m teasing?”

“Fuck. Now, you made me blush,” he hissed in her ear. He pushed her away, glanced around once more, and took her hand in his. He gripped her not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that reminded her of what she started. He dragged her off in the direction of the barracks, and Iras hummed under her breath in amusement.

Yes. She definitely needed a distraction, and the wall of muscle that was James would provide more than enough.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why can’t we just do it in my dorm?” James complained. He eyed the blond at his side, his stomach roiling. His palms itched with the urge to run his hands all over her body as she stood there, leaned against the elevator wall. She arched a brow at him, the corner of her mouth pulling in just the right way to tug at his self-control. He reminded himself that she refused to disable elevator cameras, that would set off alarm bells in the Academy, and that would be bad.

“You can’t wait two whole floors, Vega?” God, her voice was like a tumultuous creek over unsmoothed stones, just raspy enough from raw arousal to make him bite his lower lip to stay in control. He didn’t understand what control she had over him. Every time she came near him, his rational brain went out the window and his instinct took over. She scratched the back of her neck, where the implant scar had been giving her issues over the last couple of days, and he wanted to massage the spot for her. He pulled his hand back just as it had managed to escape the confines of his pockets.

“Can you?” he hissed under his breath.

Her smile dropped, and she shifted. She pressed her hips back against the wall, and made a slight noise of discomfort. “Not really. But, my room’s more secure.”

“I could’ve just told Tanaka to get lost for the night.”

“Nah, he and Caleb had a fight the other day,” Iras slipped.

James had enough time to recognize the shock that shot down his spine at this statement before the door chimed and slid open for the fifth floor of the dorms. Sure, James suspected the kid batted for the other team, he practically knew it from the second he saw the kid not even give a second glance when Anne walked shirtless through the barracks within the first week after stripping her shirt covered in dirt, blood, and sweat. But, Caleb? Well, crap. That explained a few things, actually, now that he mulled over the situation in his brain. James almost forgot why he’d been pulled into the elevator, but was sorely reminded when Iras grabbed his wrist and yanked him into the hallway after checking if they were cleared.

 James couldn’t be caught on the N5 floor. If he was, then he could potentially be suspended from the program, or expelled if the reason why he was up here was revealed. Though comradery was promoted in the program, those of lesser ranks were not allowed to see just what perks the upperclassmen got, just in case someone tried to get any bright ideas. Because of this, the elevators and doors to the living quarters all had personal passwords, with each student having their own passwords to enter the floor. So, as Iras scanned the floor with her omni and pulled him along, he felt his heart hammer firmly in his throat.

Luckily, everyone was in their dorms at this time of day, preparing to go down for dinner after a hard day of training. Iras pressed against the glyph on her door, then shoved James in before anyone could see him. The door hissed closed behind them, and before James could have a chance to really take in his surroundings. _Next time_ , he told himself even as Iras locked the door to ensure no one could disturb them. The idea that next time could happen made his skin tingle, and caused the abrupt arousal from before to tug harder at this stomach.

He stood aside as the adept swept passed him and into her room, the lights flickering on around her as she went. Her quarters were at least three times the size of his dorm. She had her own fucking living room, for fuck’s sake, and her bed was in a separate area than the rest of the space. James was busy eyeing the door that could either be another closet, or better yet, a private bathroom, when Iras put her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“What, do you want a tour?” she asked.

“And what if I do?”

“If you want to kill the mood, go ahead.”

“I kinda figured the whole riding for five minutes in an elevator without getting to touch or kiss you did that pretty well.” Though James chided her, he made his way towards the adept. She stood in the middle of the living room, her head cocked to the side, as if daring him to venture forth into her domain. Just as she was about to say something to the effect, he was sure, that he was a fucking tease, not her, he crooked his fingers into the loops of her combat fatigue slacks.

James snapped her forward, the blond letting out a quick puff of breath in surprise, before he pressed his lips to hers. The elevator hadn’t dampened the mood at all, though James wouldn’t let her live it down, not even over the next couple of years. If anything, the knowledge that she’d been so close, but that he couldn’t have her, had stocked the desire, made it smolder, made it consume him. He let go of her pants loops to grip at her slender hips, deepening the kiss as much as she would allow him. James ran a calloused hand over the bottom of her jaw, tilting her so that he could slick his tongue against her lower lip before plunging in.

He never got used to how kissing Iras felt. She was a damn drug. Like heroine, every time he kissed her she deadened his nerves and sent bolts of electricity through them all at once. The heady mixture never ceased to make him grunt at the abruptness, and he resisted just tossing her onto the couch next to him and having his way with her then and there. But, no, he wanted this to be different. James knew his control was at its limit, and that being torturously slow, gentle, and teasing would have to wait until a time where she didn’t drive him mad with a single look, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be an utter beast either. No, as much as James wanted to just fuck her brains out on whatever surface was nearest, he wanted to carve this night into her.

Iras arched into him, and James pawed at the bottom of her shirt. He’d never seen her completely naked, and he wanted to. He’d wanted to see the full, continuous image of her body since the first time he saw her torso that night in the lobby. She put her arms up and pulled just enough away so that he could rip the tank top off with an impatient growl, before descending on her again.  

James began backing her up, blindly feeling his way through the unfamiliar room. He couldn’t keep his hands in one spot. The more he felt of her naked skin, the more he wanted to touch, so when his hands dipped into her pants and gripped full handfuls of her rear, and she broke contact to gasp in surprise, he let out a small hiss of satisfaction.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” James muttered out, between harried kisses.

She didn’t respond with snark. Instead, she pulled away, grabbed him by the bottom of his shirt, and dragged him towards her bed.

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right,” she stated. When her knees met the side of the mattress, she turned to James, and snapped her fingers. The lights switched off, but enough light still filtered through the windows next to the bed to allow James to see Iras. He stood back an inch or so to look at the powerful body in front of him. Every inch of her was muscle. Her arms were cut and formed, and even her shoulders were broad from extensive weight training. Though she looked like she could easily bench press Berkley, her form was still lean, lithe, light, and small enough to pull off the acrobatic shit he saw the Furies practice every day in the yard. Under that small frame was corded muscle that could snap someone in half, and biotic powers that could rip someone limb from limb.

The light his Iras’ hair just right to make it tinged with pink, and James couldn’t help it when he subconsciously reached out, and ran his fingers through it. Her eyes narrowed just a bit, just enough to make the grey hue glint like the barrel of a gun. He crowded her, backing her up until her legs were flush with the bed’s side, and he could feel her breath puffing against his face. She gripped into the front of his shirt, twisting the material as she opened and closed her mouth, as if trying to think of something to say.

“ _Merde_ ,” she hissed. “ _Tu fais mes pensées trop de assombri…_ ”

“No lo haces fácil, tampoco,” he countered.

“If I’m shirtless, you should be too.”

“So bossy,” but he obeyed her command. He stripped his shirt off, and didn’t miss the way her eyes glossed over his body. He saw the way she looked at him, had looked at him. She liked what she saw, no matter how much she said to the otherwise, that he was too bulky and too slow to keep up on the battlefield. She let out a small breath when he caged her in again, his lips just barely touching hers.

“Nice body,” she said, with a sardonic grin.

“I try.”

“Good, now stop talking.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

James all but tumbled her onto her mattress, and was quick to follow. He climbed the mattress until he once more cornered her in, his hips coming to press against hers, forcing her to spread her legs to accommodate his wider form. He waited a moment, staring down at her, giving her a minute to think. Her cheeks were dusted with a light blush, and her lips were swollen from his insistent kissing, but her eyes were clear. He wanted her to want him. He wanted her to not regret this when they were done. He didn’t want to force her to do anything, ever.

She let out a small sigh, shifted her hips against his, causing a shudder to rack up his body, as she reached out and ran her hands over the buzzed sides of his hair. That was all the sign he needed. He descended on her neck, sucking there until he felt the skin heat and her body arch in response. He learned over the last few weeks that her neck was very sensitive. If he wanted her to melt, all he had to do was kiss at her neck, or massage the scar where her implant was, and she just about did anything he wanted.

Iras moaned under him, her blunted nails coming to rasp down his chest even as his own hands wandered indiscriminately. One kept him upright, while the other dipped behind her, over her rear, up her stomach, around her side, wherever he could feel hot skin on his palm he went with prejudice. James scraped his teeth just enough against the violent mark he left behind to make her shiver, her hips sliding against his mounting need, and her eyes drifting closed. _Fuck_ , she always knew just the right face to make. Sometimes, James wondered if she did it on purpose.

He kissed his way down her chest, skipping over her sports bra and deciding that behemoth would be taken care of in a couple of seconds, on his way to the raised mountain that was the scar Frederick left her. He glared at the mark, but decided that even that part of her needed attention. If anything, James wanted to forge new memories of the dimpled area. While he licked, nibbled, and caressed her torso, his free hand dipped between them and travelled up her thigh. Iras hissed when his hand skirted under her, then came to grip between her legs firmly through her pants.

Iras’ hands flew to her fatigues, and she attempted to slide her pants off while he pinned her down. He looked up at her with a sly grin, even as her brows knitted.

“Off, I want my pants off,” she complained.

James grunted against the flare of arousal this sent through his body. He became acutely aware of just how tight his own pants were starting to feel. He swallowed, but swatted her hands away from the hemline of her pants.

“There’s gotta be foreplay. This isn’t a pump and dump. Let’s enjoy ourselves a little, here,” James compromised by unzipping her pants and pushing a hand down their front. She bowed off the bed just a bit, just enough to make him hum under his breath when his hand cupped her apex. He wasted little time, tracing his finger around her slit, dipping it briefly into her opening, before coming to press onto the nub at the top.

James liked the feeling of Iras’ nails biting into his biceps as he began a slow, circular stroke.

“Fuck,” she muttered. James watched her throw an arm over her face, her free hand coming to grip into his shoulder. He mulled over the idea of teasing her for how wet she already was, but he would be a hypocrite if he did. He was so hard he could barely stand it. Each moan and shudder that escaped the woman under him made his cock throb, and if it weren’t for his sense of decency he’d plunge into then and there.

To resist the temptation, James slid his way up her body, kissing at her neck and jawline until she withdrew her arm from her face. She surprised him by being the one to move forward, moving onto her side and pressing into him. James pulled her closer, pleased with the contact, and slid his free arm down her side to dip into the rear of her pants. He pushed them down her hips, trying to give him more room to work with. She tried to spread her legs wider, to facilitate the new position, but her pants restricted their movement. Finally, James let out a low, frustrated sound, pulled away from her completely, and sat up.

He sat up on his knees, undid the belt to his own pants, and pulled it out with a grunt. The metal clacked loudly when he threw it behind him, his eyes never leaving the smug looking form of Iras in front of him. She arched a brow at him when he undid his button and zipper, and pushed his pants down his hips, and pulled his pants clean off. The cold air bit at his erection, but he didn’t care, because the second he was fully naked she reciprocated, removing her sports bra in a fluid movement that James never managed to imitate, not even in the years to come, and then sliding her own fatigues off the rest of the way.

James felt his ears heat when she stared unabashedly at his erection, her face schooled, but he felt her judge it all the same. He swore under his breath at having thrown away his pants, the very thing that held his condoms for the night. He scuttled off the bed, and began digging in his pockets.

“At least you have them this time.”

“You act like you didn’t have a good time the days I didn’t have them,” James shot over his shoulder. He felt like a high school kid that didn’t know how to tear open a condom wrapper. He tore at the side, and when the seal failed to tear, he let out a low, frustrated sound. Iras chuckled at him from her bed.

“I wouldn’t say that. You are surprisingly good with your hands, War Hero.”

James turned around at her, his brows raised at the rare compliment. He tore the corner of the wrapper with his teeth, and unrolled the condom onto himself, resisting the painful urge to stroke himself just a little, to supply just a little friction. He tried not to look at Iras on the bed for too long, he wasn’t sure he could take it. She sat up on her elbows, a lazy grin splayed across her face, and her legs just enough apart that he could see the small curls of hair around her labia. He crawled back towards her, the bed dipping under his weight.

James grabbed her ankles, and snapped her forward. The way she yelped was music to his ears, and the way the sheets of the bed bunched under her back and rear made him want to devour every inch of skin they touched. He stared at the constellation of scars and marks that littered her body, and for a moment he wondered if all other adepts had wounds like this. He supposed their light armor left them more open to gunfire, and maybe that’s why she had more than he did, but he figured her time in Delta also contributed heavily.

Before she could let out an impatient whine at him, he was back to business. He leaned over her, his hand resuming its home between her legs, while he nipped his way around her exposed collarbone.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras resisted the urge to writhe against his hand like some wanton whore. Instead, she shuddered and quaked under his hand as he pressed harder one second, and then softer the next. He pulled the skin of her slit up a bit with his thumb, and scrapped at the fully exposed nub enough to make the bottoms of her feet tingle. She threw her head into her shoulder, and tried to repress the series of moans that forced their way out of her mouth. Shit. She hadn’t realized she was this aroused. The world span, her bed titled, and James’ hands and mouth were too hot. She felt like she was melting into the cold sheets under her.

James left her clit alone for a second, and it burned from want of attention. Instead, he circled her entrance, and plunged a finger into her, wasting no time to crook towards the front, and finding that damn spot he always found. He rubbed against it, over and over, and caused her stomach to tighten, and her hips to start to feel heavy. His palm replaced his finger against her clit, and the rough, calloused texture made her let out a sharp yelp, her body jumping at the contact.

“Make that sound again,” James urged. He pressed against her, over and over, his palm a firm, rough pressure against her delicate skin.

Two could play it that way.

She arched her back in an exaggerated show, her hips tilting against his hand, and her eyes half-lidded locked with his.

“James…” she breathed.

Jackpot. His eyes flared up like some great furnace, and he made a pained expression. But, instead of rushing to kiss her, to devour her and conquer her, he instead pushed her up the bed and threw her legs over his shoulders. A bright, almost painful bolt of pleasure went up her spine when his mouth enclosed her nub.

“Sh…shit,” she stammered. She grappled with the pillows behind her, holding onto them for dear life as he firmed his tongue against her clit and dragged against it. Her hips jumped, grinded, as he sucked and licked at her, and it didn’t help when he kept doing that damn groaning. What limited stubble he had from the shave that morning rasped against her, and the contrast made her head spin.

Her thighs closed around his head when he inserted a finger into her opening, again pursuing that spot with reckless abandon. She couldn’t remember the last time someone gave her oral. Every time she hooked up with someone since Fredrick it had been a wham, bam, thank you ma’am, an exercise in desperate stress relief for all parties involved. But, James seemed determined to be the opposite of that. He growled against her opening, laving at her nub before nipping it just enough with his teeth to make a hand fly to his head.

It was too much. The sensation was too strong. She hadn’t had a man, or a woman for that matter, want to do this to her in over four years. His mouth was scorching, his tongue was slick and rough, while his fingers scissored and thrusted their way in and out of her, stretching her opening before going back to rubbing at the ridge inside of her. She became overwhelmed, and the coiling pleasure in her core began to tighten faster than she could keep track.

“James… wait, if you keep doing that-”

James looked up at her from between her thighs, his eyes firm, and their dark hue like boiling Cuban coffee. He used his free hand to separate her folds, pull the skin just a bit, to expose her nub even more, and that just about made her keen. Both hands abandoned the anchor of the pillows and instead gripped onto James’ head, alternating between trying to either push him off, or pull him closer. Her hips twitched and grinded against his face, and her whole body was soon starting to shake with the coming release. Her eyes screwed shut, and blood started to rush into her ears.

He undid her. Completely, and utterly, she shattered under him when he firmed his tongue against her, and had three fingers going as fast as he could against that ridge. She opened her mouth in a silent shout, and her shoulders came to greet her ears. She became deaf and blind, her vision filling with white stars, and her hips quaked on him. She didn’t hear him groan, or feel the bed dip as he thrusted his hips against the bed to ease his own rising need. All she heard was the rushing of the blood in her ears, and all she felt was the honeyed warmth spilling over her whole body. She was boneless when he pulled his fingers out and sat up.

Her vision slowly returned, focused and tunneled, as James licked his lips, his thumb smoothing a small amount of glistening liquid from his chin.

“That… was impressive…” she croaked. Why did her throat suddenly feel raw?

He towered over her, and in her blissed out state, she didn’t care just how wide his thighs were, or how wide her legs were spread to accommodate his hips seating against hers. James ran a hand up her stomach, licking his lips again absentmindedly. She felt the heat of his erection sitting against her core, his hips rocking a bit in anticipation, as he brought his hands to her hips and made idle circles with his thumbs.

“You ready?” he asked.

Iras thought it was an odd thing to ask her when they’d already come this far. She squirmed against him, her sense slowly returning, though still a muddled mess. But, it was sweet. She liked that about James. She liked that he didn’t push or pry, that even though he was a fucking tank he didn’t charge in unless invited.

She reached behind, and grabbed onto the pillow just shy of her head. She nodded, and watched with rapt attention as James took himself in his hand and slowly edged himself into her opening. Iras hissed against the intrusion, the sudden full feeling as he slipped in at a slow, accommodating pace. Sure enough, her near two years of abstinence had made her tighter than she felt comfortable, though James had done an admirable job of stretching her out and making sure she was lubed up. When he was all but in, he snapped his hips forward, jolting her back a bit, and eliciting a low groan from her. She felt so full.

She spread her legs wider, and mentally made a note to see if James was as thick as he felt. He waited for her, and though his face was a mask of calm and patience, his hands shook with anticipation. When she felt as comfortable as she could, she arched her hips against his, pushing him back, a silent queue to proceed.

Boy, did James proceed. He pulled nearly completely out before slipping back forward. His pace was slow at first, but deep. Each time he trust back in, he would stop and grind just a bit, before repeating the process. Meticulous, he kept up the slow pace until her entrance no longer stung, and Iras was awash in the same heady, pleasant milky warmth as before. She met his every move as best she could after being rendered so useless by his pervious ministrations.

James shifted, a small grunt escaping his chest and vibrating in the air around them. He started to go faster, his hips snapping into hers, but still stopping to grind every time he pumped in. It wasn’t until he hit that ridge in her, angled himself just right, that she understood why. Though his pervious thrusting had created a nice warmth that had been slowly building, reignited from before, when he struck that spot for the first time she let out a breathy gasp. This made James thrum under his breath, and then each time he found that spot Iras rewarded him with a similar hapless noise.

Soon, the sound of slapping flesh and mixed moans was all that Iras could hear. James’ fingers dug into her hips so hard she was sure they’d leave purple half-moons in their wake, and that thought sent a thrill up her back. James said something, she wasn’t sure, she was too lost in trying to keep up with him, but she did notice when he threw one of her legs of his shoulder, and pat her on the side.

Obliging, Iras turned onto her side, the feeling of moving while he was still firm and hard in her an odd sensation, then gave him a pursed, confused look. James winced, and put both hands on the bed on either side of her, then began pumping at a renewed, faster rhythm. The new depth made Iras see stars, and she cried out, plopping her head against the crook of her arm. It hadn’t felt like this with her previous partners after Fredrick. All of them had felt good, yes, just like sex always has a way of feeling good in the moment. But this, this was different. It muddied her senses. The bed didn’t feel real, it felt like some soft surface a thousand miles away from her actual body, and her actual body was the way the coil in her core started to wind up tighter and tighter, straining against this new sensation.

Where the others had been dulled down, the sensations with James felt magnified twenty fold.

So, when James sat back just a bit, and brought a thumb to press at her clit, she almost came then and there. Her hand flew to his wrist, and she gave him a wild, pleading look. She didn’t know if she wanted him to stop or keep going, but when he just went faster, until their hips made obscene wet noises, she gave up trying to think. Instead, she bit into the sheets under her as he stroked her clit, and continued to grind into that one glorious spot over and over again.

She didn’t feel the orgasm coming. It hit her, hard and without warning, and made her toes curl, feet point, and her body go stiff. James stopped moving, holding his breath as she lost hers. Again, she came undone around him, and clenched at his erection in her core until she wondered how he hadn’t just released from the pressure.

He didn’t let her rest, though. He was close, she could tell by the way he was swearing under his breath in Spanish, little slang words she didn’t know. He pulled out and maneuvered her boneless body so that her face was in the pillow, and he had her hips and ass in the air. He kneaded her rear, pressing into the limited softness, before pushing back in.

“James…” she whined. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. At this point, she no longer tried to keep up with him, but instead contented herself to ride him out.

“Fuck,” was his response. He leaned over her back, and she felt his breath ghost on the back of her neck. His teeth scraped at the delicate skin there, her whole body prickling, as his free hand ghosted under her and gripped onto one of her breasts. She complained when he left her breast and again trailed down her stomach. He pressed a finger against her clit, and her whole body bucked against him.

“James, I can’t…”

“Too sensitive?” his voice was gravely, and broken up by grunting moans that made her head swim. Iras nodded, biting her lower lip when he pushed aside to the sensitive skin next to her bundle of nerves instead, and though it was far less sensitive, it still made her feel too full, too prickly, too hot.

The more erratic his thrusting became, the less controlled it was, the closer he got to completion. Iras buried her head into the pillow, attempting to stay the tide of new pleasure building. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. James was just too damn good at this. He gave one final push, sending her over the small ledge he’d built, a weaker orgasm than before, but enough to clench around him and finish him off. She felt his hips slam against hers, his hands grip into her hips just hard enough to be uncomfortable, and let out a stream of profanities, praise, and low groans that vibrated through her bones. He gave a few experimental thrusts, as if milking himself clean, before all but collapsing onto her.

“Why did we wait to do that…?” James asked as he pulled out.

Iras flopped onto the sheets, tired and unwilling to move. The afterglow of so many orgasms in such rapid procession had her body tingling in places she forgot they could tingle. She thought she should get her sweat slicked hair off of her face, that she should at least wipe herself off, but all she could manage was a small smirk at the marine beside her.

“Because I was still trying to convince myself you weren’t adorable.”

“I’m hurt. I’m always fucking adorable,” James managed to stand off the bed. Iras thought, for a second, that he was going to get dressed and leave. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. Like they promised, this was casual, there was no reason for him to stay. Even still, when he started looking around, a small part of her filled with wounded resentment.

“Man, girls never keep any tissues near the bed. Where are your towels?”

Iras blinked at him, her brows furrowing. She managed to sit up enough to watch him pad right passed his clothes, and into the living room. Considering he couldn’t possibly go out into the barracks naked as the day he was born, she burrowed her arms under the pillow in front of her.

“The bathroom? Why?”

“Like I’m going to leave you to be sticky and sweaty.”

“Wait,” Iras couldn’t help the sappy grin that creased her face. “You want to clean me off?” The thought hadn’t occurred to her that James wanted to clean up after himself.

James shrugged, his large shoulders now highlighted by the dim glow of the bathroom light. Iras traced her eyes along the knot work of the tattoo on his back. Big, black crisscrosses with an N7 logo planted firmly in the middle. She wondered if it ever occurred to him that he might have failed Hell and gotten that thing for nothing.

Then again, it was James she was talking about. She wasn’t sure he was capable of failing. He threw his all into something, he committed, he was determined, and in a way he was like her old English bulldog.

“Is that so hard to believe?” James padded his way out of the bathroom and back towards Iras, a large, white body towel in his hand.

“No, it’s just…” Iras fished for the word as he sat on the edge of the bed. She scoffed when he slapped her rear, a silent command for her to scoot closer to make his job easier. She noted how the limited light from the now night sky outside revealed just how covered in sweat he was too. But, he didn’t once wipe himself off first. As soon as she managed to roll closer to him, curious as to how he would handle this minor task, he went to work on her. “It’s sweet. Sentimental, even.”

“That’s me, sentimental, even,” James quipped.

Iras let out a low noise she didn’t recognize when he pushed her cheeks apart and wiped her clean of the sticky liquid their activities had flushed out of her. He rubbed her more than was necessary, and paid special attention to her entrance and clit, before pulling away. He flipped the towel over, and after wiping the sweat from her form, did his own.

When he finished, he tucked back onto the bed, and pulled her flush against him.

“Cuddling? You didn’t strike me as the type,” Iras droned, but allowed it. He tucked an arm under her, and she discovered she was now the little spoon.

“You got a lot to learn about me, Knuckles.”

“Promises, promises.”

Though they both enjoyed each other’s company, and though they both liked to talk, fatigue soon swept over the both of them. James’ breathing evened out before hers did, and as Iras drifted off, she found her fingers running up and down his forearm absentmindedly.


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

**Chapter Fifteen:**

**Floodgates**

That night was the deepest sleep Iras had known since the war ended. Whether from exhaustion, the background hum of pleasure in her bones, or from simply having the warmth of James’ body pressed into her back all through the night, she slept like the dead. No Reapers stalked her sleep, and no dead squad mates stalked her brain. Instead, she fell into cool, collected darkness, and didn’t wake until six the next morning.

She stretched out next to him, surprised to see that he hadn’t released her the whole night long. Iras put a hand to her stomach when it growled loudly, remembering that she hadn’t partaken in dinner the night before. The gnawing in her stomach was a sore reminder of the foolishness of that decision. At least she had the day off. Until she was deployed to her deep cover mission, she was on base, but almost at liberty. She shifted forward to stand up, determined to fix the rumbling of her stomach and to brew as strong of a coffee she could manage with her dinky pot, when James’ arm hooked her tighter to him. He let out a sleepy groan, his body stretching against her back, but not lessening his grip in the least. As if realizing she was still there, and that she was all but at his mercy in this position, he let out a small noise that almost sounded like a purr. His nose buried itself into the nape of her neck, and she felt him take in a sharp inhale of her lazy pulse.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice craggy and broken.

Iras would’ve scoffed at the scene if she saw it a few months ago. She didn’t know why she felt so content just lying there, especially when her stomach complained for breakfast of any kind. She managed to turn over in his arm, and when her chest was against his he threw a leg over her side.

“Gotcha…”

“You’re really docile in the morning.”

“Only after I get laid,” he said. James blinked a bit, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand, still refusing to let her go. When done, he locked eyes with her, and some residual desire from the night before still burned in his eyes. Her heart hammered when he leaned forward, his lips just grazing hers, as if asking for permission. She didn’t pull away, despite his morning breath, but instead traced a hand over his chest as he deepened the kiss.

He’d just smoothed his tongue into her mouth when she protested, thumping his chest.

“You should be resting up for your test in two days,” she reminded him. Right. No matter how much she did want to just spend the day in bed, letting James indulge himself in studying every nook and cranny of her body-especially if he went down on her again-she had an obligation as a former instructor to get him ready for the N3 qualifications. And that meant, getting him out of bed, or at least stopping another round. The last thing she needed was to hear he failed the test because he was physically exhausted from lack of self-control, on either of their parts.

James snorted, and rolled to where he was on top of her. He spread her legs, and she mentally swore at herself for not dressing in bedclothes before going to bed that night. She felt his heavy morning need against her, pressing with want, and her cheeks burned despite herself.

She squirmed against him, wincing when he shallowly thrust his hips to where he brushed against her bundle of nerves. The sudden stimulation right after waking up, on top of still being a bit swollen and bruised from the abuse of the night before, caused her to inhale sharply. He did it again and again, humming under his breath as he now laved at her pulse, feeling her blood quickening with each push. Iras let out a shuttering moan, her hands coming to claw at his hips.

“Fuck, James, it’s too early for you to do that…”

“You were awake before I was,” he reminded her. Iras protested when he tilted her chin and pressed his lips to hers again, this time immediately seeking entrance. Shit. Why did he have to be such a good kisser? Iras felt her mind fogging, her limbs starting to become leaden and jerky at the same time, and whenever she tried to move her hips away from his, to break his maddening connection, it heightened the friction and caused her toes to curl. One rough hand dipped between them and came to palm a breast, callouses scraping over the pert, sensitive nipple.

He did that thing with his tongue where he bit her lower lip before soothing it, then repeated the process until she was surprised she didn’t taste copper, and god that always did her in. With a disgruntled sigh, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and pulled her as flush against her as the position could manage.

James broke their kiss with a strangled sound, his teeth barred. He glared down at her, his breathing now heavy and uneven.

“That’s playing dirty.”

“Yeah, well, what do you call whatever the hell you were just doing, Vega?”

“Look, if I fail the test because we have some morning sex, then I should just pack up my bags and go home now. Besides, you look so fucking hot right now,” James sat up, breaking her hold, and stared down at her. For the first time since he came into her room, she felt he was actually looking. The night before had been about satisfying a need, a need they put off for too long. Now, she could feel him take in every inch of her body like he was studying it, mapping it out, recording it to memory. Iras took the opportunity to return the favor, relishing in sweeping her eyes over the flat plane of his abs, the broadness of his shoulders, the way his stupid neck met his stupid shoulders in a way that would be unattractive on anyone else, to the tattoo on his chest, and finally back up to his face. She wondered about his scars, and if his facial scar’s story was as boring as hers.

James licked his lips and hoisted her hips up. He ran his hands up the backs of her thighs, making her lift her legs in order to keep the contact, until he had her by the backs of the knees. She raised an eyebrow at the position, her ass in the air and her legs stretched just wide enough she was certain where he was staring.

“You are so weird…” Iras breathed.

James decided, for once, that words were cheap in that moment.

Iras sucked in a breath when he ducked down, holding her legs firmly in place as he went. Her shoulders scrunched up next to her ears, and suddenly she didn’t care if James’ test was in two days.

 

* * *

 

 

James couldn’t keep his hands off of Iras. Even after spending another couple of hours in bed, in which James got to actually see what Iras’ tattoo looked like in its glorious entirety, he wanted to just keep touching her. He never wanted to stop. It was a shame that his dick had other plans. Though his stomach still roiled with lust as he watched the adept pad into the kitchen just off the living room, small as it was, to make coffee, he didn’t have it in him to go yet another round just yet. Give him twenty minutes, though. That couch looked awful perfect for a quicky.

Iras had scooped up his shirt from the night before, too lazy and her legs too wobbly to make it to her own closet, and wore the massive grey tent to get ready for the day. James watched from the bed, his head propped up by pillows and his arms, and still gloriously naked. His body felt like molten lead, heavy, tired, but satiated.

“I take it you have the day off too?” James called.

Iras flipped the coffee pot on, and leaned against the counter of the kitchenette. She quirked a brow at him. “What was your first clue?”

“The fact that you didn’t send me and my naked ass flying across your quarters an hour ago?”

“Good point. Yeah, I do, why?”

James batted around the idea he’d been concocting for the last week. Though they had a casual arrangement, James couldn’t help his inner romantic. He wanted to spoil Iras. He wanted to take her places, he wanted to show her things, he wanted to see her smile, laugh, wanted to see her reactions whenever he managed to surprise her in a good way. James came to realization a couple of days ago that he wanted to take the adept on a date, but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. It felt so normal, to ask someone on a date… but, they weren’t normal. Iras was an adept, she could move things with her fucking mind, could rip someone apart without batting an eyelash, and she could certainly kick his ass when she put her mind to it. He was a soldier, a brute, a tank, a walking arsenal of Alliance might, and pretty damn good looking. They were Alliance marines, best of the best, and still active duty.

And yet, all this information didn’t stop James from wanting to take Iras to the newly restored cinema in the nearest town. They were only playing Blasto, again, but he figured it was a bit of normalcy, a bit of the old Earth from before the war, and he thought she might want the reminder of what was good on this chunk of rock.

The only problem was, asking. He felt his stomach firm up, and his heart race, but he kept his nerves from clouding his features. Instead, he schooled them into his normal, blasé, there but not there smirk.

“Wanna do something, today?”

Iras scrunched up her face, and looked him over. “Again?”

“What? No. Well, maybe, if you wanna. Not quite what I had in mind, though. But, if you want to, you just gotta give me a few more minutes. I’m a bit dry, right now,” James stretched out, spreading his legs just a little to where his manhood was in full display. Iras rolled her eyes and turned back into the kitchen. He cleared his throat, deciding that Iras in the morning was a bit dense, denser than usual when it came to social interactions, and he sat up. He propped his elbows on his knees, and said matter-of-factly, “I want to go see a movie. Today. Together. With you.”

Iras blinked at him, owlishly, and it occurred to James she hadn’t thought of him asking her out. She glanced at the coffee pot, her brows furrowing, before starting to walk back towards the bedroom, towards him.

“I have a screen, James. We can watch a vid here.” She motioned to the sizable screen stretched along the wall next to the kitchen, a gift from the headmaster to all the students of N5 and up in their quarters, a way of saying “thank god you survived.” James swallowed, and made a pained face.

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t actually watch the movie. You’d probably jump me during the boring bits.”

“Right, me, jumping you. That’s totally what happened twice this morning.”

“Hey, hey, you did that thing with your eyes, you know that gets to me.”

“Thing with my eyes?” Iras crossed her arms, standing just shy of the bed. James had to put his hands under his legs in order to stop from grasping at his shirt and dragging her over to him. Maybe she really was heroine. If this was what his dad felt when on Red Sand, he could totally understand the addiction. The way her legs tapered out from under the mass of grey fabric got to him. It stopped just shy of showing off the curve of her ass, but shows enough of the swell of her hips and thighs to make him want to bite at the flesh there.

Instead of fondling the woman in front of him, he gave her a languid smile.

“Don’t play dumb. But, focus, vid.”

“James,” he didn’t like it when she did that. That tone of voice always meant a soft, chiding ‘no’ was coming his way. Iras ran a hand through her hair, trying to free the tangles he’d so lovingly given her throughout the night and morning. “You need to focus on your test.”

“And if I focus on it anymore, I’m going to go insane. C’mon, we always go to the damn bar, let’s do something different.”

James knew that look she was giving him. The one that felt like it peeled back his skin, his muscle, everything that was physical about him, and stared down to the ephemeral thing that made him James Vega. She tried to see into his thoughts, see his intentions, see why he wanted to do this, but she couldn’t get the answer since he didn’t know himself. He just wanted to spend more time with the fellow marine. And, though he knew the risks, he knew that she already had too much control over him, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting more.

Last night had satisfied him, yes, but it also made him greedier.

Iras scratched at her implant scar before sighing.

“Sure.”

And just like that, one part of the stress he’d been feeling for the last week was alleviated. James was cautious, though, and tried to abate his excitement. The last thing he needed was to violate the terms of their arrangement.

 

* * *

 

 

“Listen to your doctors. If you keep moving like that, you’ll rupture your _fresh_ stitches.”

Garrus let out a frustrated growl as he fidgeted with the pillows behind his old Commander’s head. Shepard flopped back down, glaring at the turian balefully. Though well enough to go home in theory, Shepard still needed round the clock observation for the spleen transplant she’d needed a couple months back—having a Reaper blow up on you is apparently bad for the internal organs. Each day that passed that she felt fine, and ready to start her road to real recovery-not just the kind that involved a hospital bed-was another day that her all but husband had to field her anxiousness.

Currently, it was all Garrus could do to keep her from attempting to sleep on her side. Garrus still remembered how she didn’t like sleeping on her back, how she said it made her vulnerable areas too easy to access and target while she was asleep. He thought it cute that she worried about things like that, even with the Reapers gone. Sure, some mercenary groups were getting too big for their britches and trying to start shit within Council and Alliance space, but that was something that didn’t involve Shepard. Not directly, anyway. That’s what Major Alenko as for.

Shepard heaved a sigh.

“Now I know how Kaidan felt when in Heurta. Tied to a hospital bed with red tape? That’s putting it mildly.”

Garrus flicked his mandibles, and decided that Shepard’s begrudging glance his way signaled she was done trying to defy him and her doctors. He sat down in the chair next to her, resting his hands on his knees. Today he came in civvies, which with each passing day he became more accustomed to. He only pulled at the collar a few times during their last visit, and today he’d only done it once in the past four hours.

“They only have your best interest in heart, dear.”

“Yeah, well, their best interest has me bored out of my skull. To go from killing Reapers, saving the galaxy, fighting my clone, to this?” Shepard gestured at the bed. Though a VIP in the hospital, Shepard still had to put up with paper thin blankets that barely did anything to keep the cold out, and her pillows were from Garrus’ new apartment, otherwise there would be at least four of them to get the same amount of cushion. The hospital was fully repaired, though, she’d give them that much. The walls were still too white, and the floor still smelled like antiseptic, but at least the rest of the building now resembled her room, and not a battlefield triage center. As the hospital repaired itself, so did Shepard’s mental well-being. She didn’t shout in the middle of the night as much, nor did she have waking flashbacks in the middle of exams.

“It beats the hell out of getting blown up, though, Shepard. Which, by the way, you seem to have a disturbing obsession with.”

“What can I say, I like things that go boom.”

“Very funny.”

“ _I_ thought it was.”

“Just, listen to your doctors. I don’t want you managing to hurt yourself even more. That apartment is getting awful lonely, Shepard. I need you.”

Those words affected her, finally. She frowned, and looked down at her hands. Garrus knew the anxiety that came with a life of peace when you’re a soldier. Shepard had been under for the first two months after the war, she hadn’t seen Garrus when he was at his worse. He paced their apartment, night and day, with sniper rifles, guns, and any kind of weapon he could get his hands on lining the dwelling anywhere he could place them. Irrational thoughts clouded his head, and he thought for sure the batarians, what was left of them, would come to the apartment or hospital seeking retribution. But, they didn’t, and Garrus felt foolish for his paranoia. Soon, his muscles relaxed, his bones stopped aching for a fight, and all he focused on now was getting Shepard well enough to be discharged.

Shepard glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her mouth firming into a small line.

“I don’t know if I can do it, Garrus.”

“Do what?”

They kept having this conversation, but each time Garrus humored her by pretending he didn’t know what topic she was bringing up. Though it would be years before they could determine if she would return to active, full on N7 duty, it plagued his love’s mind day and night. Warriors like Shepard, the kind that were forged in the heat of battle almost from birth, often didn’t know what to do once taken off the battlefield. They floundered, gasped for air, and made the best attempts they could at adjusting. Garrus knew that feeling well.

Shepard gave him a wry smile. Scars now littered her face, dimpling the patch work done years ago on the then Cerberus controlled Normandy. Now, they really did match.

“I don’t know if I would be able to do a desk job, Garrus. I don’t know if I would be able to be in the military without being active duty. I think I’d go insane,” Shepard concluded.

Garrus flattened his mandibles to his face. Whenever Shepard did this kind of stuff, it left him at a loss. He was used to her being the rock, the rudder, the sturdy hand guiding them through the storm over the last few years. To see her floundering like this hurt. He scraped his blunted talons against his pants, his eyes narrowing in thought. Now would be a really good time to have someone like James, Tali, or Liara, they always knew what to say to get the Comman… Major’s… head out of the self-depreciating haze she occasionally inhabited.

The turian clicked his tongue in sympathy, a noise that Shepard learned early in their association that he wished he could make her feel better. Since their first meeting on the Citadel, Garrus had seen the sheer amount of pressure the marine was under, and would be under. Part of him had gone along with the then Commander to help ease that burden, though he hadn’t realized it until when they surged onto London during the last fight of the war. Sure, he wanted to get out there, do something good, and do something that mattered other than patrolling C-sec controlled wards on the Citadel. He had wanted to make a difference, the kind of difference that C-sec couldn’t sanction because of their sea of red tape, and that meant following a Specter like Shepard, who wadded through the bureaucracy like it couldn’t touch her. He’d been in awe the first time he read her file, and the first time he met her Garrus felt like he couldn’t breathe—he knew now that that sensation was the first inklings of attraction. He just refused to admit it back then because turian attraction to humans was unfounded, uncharted, taboo. Falling for a quarian was considered more acceptable than wanting to make Shepard his life mate.

He leaned forward, and took one of Shepard’s hands in his. He never stopped marveling at how humans and asari functioned with so many fingers. Did the other three get in the way? Still, the way hers closed around his index finger made a warmth spread over his body from his chest.

“You won’t go insane. You didn’t when that Reaper heart tried to indoctrinate you in batarian space, you didn’t when you touched the prothean beacon, and you won’t by sitting behind a desk. You’re my girl,” Garrus intoned, making sure his harmonics hummed just the way Shepard liked, “and you can handle anything thrown at you. You always have. You just need some time to adjust, like we all do.”

Shepard smiled at him, her eyes wrinkling in the corners, the first signs of the wear and tear of war.

“You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

“Someone’s got to keep you grounded. Plus, I’ve had almost four years of practice.”

Shepard coughed a laugh, holding onto the area where her new spleen sat. Garrus wondered the reason why the new organ could possibly be rejected. The Alliance had the technology to grow new organs specifically tailored to a person’s DNA structure, so that the organ would stay put and not turn toxic. Maybe the technology had been irreversibly damaged? Still, the old fashioned method had the turian on edge.

“Now, who’s not listening to the doctors? They said not to make me laugh too hard.”

“I can’t help it if I’m charmingly witty.”

“I can’t wait to get out of here. You can only look at the same four walls before you go a little stir-crazy,” Shepard observed. She settled back down into the bed, her eyes narrowing at the wall in front of her. Though the news played on a screen in front of her, she stared beyond it, out into whatever headspace she wandered when she wanted freedom from the hospital.

Garrus nodded, holding her hand a little tighter than before.

“Neither can I.”

 

* * *

 

 

An alert sounded on Iras’ communicator just as she safely ushered James out of the N5 commons and down into the elevator. With any luck, he wouldn’t run into someone wanting to go to the higher floors on his way down to his dorm. And, with more luck, Tanaka wouldn’t ask too many questions. She scowled at the blinking light, her eyes narrowing. A new message was awaiting her at her private computer in her room, and she debated checking it right away. Though she was wary of her and James’… outing… for the day, it smacked too much of a date after all, and they had set out very strict guidelines for their beneficial situation, she looked forward to time off base in somewhere other than a bar. One could only smell the same smoke, drink the same booze, and see the same people off base so many times before it became just as bad as being in her quarters. She didn’t want to spoil the small well of happiness tugging at her stomach with an email of her coming mission from Hackett.

So, she avoided her room, at least for now. She could say she was out of the dorms at the time she received it, and Hackett would believe her. So, instead, she made her way to the common area, where a large sectional wound its way on the perimeter of the room, and several other N5’s were relaxing with either coffee, lunch, or just shooting the breeze until their afternoon classes. If Iras had ever deigned to go to college, she thought this was what a dorm’s lobby looked like. A bunch of twenty-something’s with their heads just above water, trying not to stress out, trying not to have panic attacks, and just trying to graduate.

Caleb glanced up from his data pad, a mug of extra strong, extra black coffee in his hand. Iras didn’t miss how dark the bags under his eyes were, to where they almost matched his hair, nor the way his nose wrinkled a bit when she raised her eyebrows in a knowing matter. If one thing drove him crazy, it was that she knew about him and Tanaka. Not that she would tell anyone, mind you, but it still made him irked that he managed to fumble up keeping that quiet. She tossed around the idea of telling him about her and James, to even the playing field, but decided against it. Though she trusted the vanguard with her life, she still wanted to keep the information as close to her chest as possible.

Iras vaulted the back of the couch and came to a thud next to Caleb. He let out a grunt, and held his mug up to keep the liquid from sloshing around and staining the couch.

“Smooth, Bennet. You would never guess you’re a Fury with how graceless you are.”

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Iras quipped.

“And someone’s in an annoyingly good one. Why, you’re positively glowing,” Caleb drawled. He eyed her a bit while sipping his coffee, before returning to his data pad. Iras spotted a violent, purple mark just shy of his hairline, where his neck just graced his ear, and she held back her grin.

“You’ve got a wicked looking bug bite, right here…” she pointed to the area on her own neck, and Caleb’s eyes widened. He firmed his lips, squinted at her, trying to tell if she were lying, before rubbing at the area.

“Told him not to…” Caleb hissed only loud enough for her to hear, his ears dusking with pink.

Iras wore one of her turtlenecks that day for that express purpose. James hadn’t been able to control himself last night, and this morning, despite her protests to not leave visible marks he’d done so anyway. It would seem that her fellow biotic was in a similar situation.

“Yeah, well, it happens. Doesn’t explain your bad mood, though. You’d think you’d be happy.”

Caleb sighed, and glanced around. He assured himself that the other marines were far enough away to not hear, or at least the engineers and infiltrators were not interested enough to activate their listening equipment, before setting the mug and data pad down.

“I would be, if we hadn’t fought after.”

Iras frowned. Caleb wasn’t one quick to passion, much less anger, so the idea of him and Tanaka having a dispute of any kind made her more than a bit suspicious. She rolled a shoulder, wincing at the slight bloom of pain from James having pushed her down a bit too hard earlier that morning. She made a mental note to either pay James back, or tell him not to try to merge her with the mattress—either would do.

“That sucks. I always hated it when that happened. Then again, my last relationship wasn’t the healthiest, probably best not to listen to me,” she concluded.

Caleb’s eyes softened, and he glanced around again. His hand shot out to grip hers, and his forehead smoothed out, his mouth pulling into a firm line. Caleb and Athentia were the only ones at the academy that knew about her marriage. Sure, it was public record that she had been wedded to someone, but when and to who had been wiped from her record when placed into solitary. Her past with her husband vanished, and she became a kind of ghost during those four years. The vanguard next to her scowled.

“He was just an asshole. It doesn’t mean your advice isn’t appreciated.”

“You asking for advice?” Iras tried to laugh off his concern. She didn’t like when people did this, when they tried to show that they cared about her past, about Fredrick. No one knew what that felt like, no one was there when he cut her clean open, when he tried to kill her, so their pity felt like an insult. She recognized that he didn’t intend it to be construed that way, but old stubborn habits die hard. “Don’t tell me you actually like-like this kid?”

Caleb’s ears burned again, and Iras battled jumping up and shouting that she knew it.

“He’s attractive, I’ll give you that.”

“He’s very… flexible…” Caleb cleared his throat, his blush now bleeding into his neck. Desperate to deflect his humiliation, he turned to her and said in a quick, hushed voice, “not like I’m alone, though. You and Vega are getting awful close.”

“This is like some damn soap opera,” Iras drawled under her breath. She sat back against the couch, draping her arms along the back, and refused to answer the accusation. She knew she couldn’t lie to Caleb, not with their record. Spending so much time serving together, off and on, the idiot was well acquainted with her tells and signs that she was lying. She wouldn’t risk tipping him off, and instead, averted the conversation. She spotted Athentia making her way down the hallway, stretching her arms above her head and unmindful of the looks some of the new N5’s were giving her.

The newly minted N5’s didn’t see why an asari was a regular instructor. Every other race that came to teach at the academy had come and gone, with Garrus’ tenure being only a month and some odd weeks, and a krogan battlemaster’s stay being just as short, many were confused as to why she remained. None listened to the official reason, the one Hackett and Acker said every time they were questioned by either recruits or media. Athentia was there because the vanguard N7’s had been on the front line in London, and on many of the other major battlefronts. Their ranks decimated, Athentia was the next best solution. She taught in asari institutes before she went mercenary on Ilium, and had the most experience in instructing use of biotics. Point blank, the asari stayed in on the academy because she was damn good at her job.

Now, as to _why_ she decided to live in the N5 dorms? That was a mystery yet to be resolved.

“About time you woke up, sleeping beauty!” Iras called, distracting Caleb from the conversation. If one thing could be said for Athentia, it was that she was a ruthless gossip. Caleb knew better than to continue their discussion, lest the whole academy know both their bedroom affairs by the time the day was over.

“This isn’t over,” he hissed.

“Now, it is.”

“Whatever. It’s not like I work today or anything,” the asari stated, breaking the terse exchange. She came and joined them on the couch next to Iras, casting a long look over to her fellow vanguard.

“That’s some bug bite you got, Suttikal.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Caleb said, exasperated. He threw his hands up, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back into a fearsome pout. Iras laughed harder than she had in weeks at the sight. Not since before the war had she managed to get under his skin so much he resorted to shutting down, and outright sulking.

Athentia startled Iras, however, when she pushed the hair from her neck back and stared meaningfully behind her ear. The asari leaned over, a wicked grin on her face.

“Looks like you got bit too. Was it that big hunk of muscle you always insist you aren’t fucking?” Athentia whispered into Iras’ ear. The adept tensed up to the point of pain, and shot her a cold, withering glare. Her reaction was exactly what the asari hoped for, and she leaned back, propping her feet on the table in front of them. “Thought so.”

“If you say anything…” Cold panic bubbled inside of Iras’ stomach. The last thing she needed was this news being blasted everywhere. Her mission with Hackett, her upcoming promotion to N6, her career in general in the Alliance, all of this could be tarnished if Athentia said the wrong thing to the wrong person.

Athentia shrugged, closed her eyes, and scratched at one of the light purple colony markings on her face.

“Like I would. Please. I’ve got your back.”

“Just what are you two talking about?”

“Doesn’t concern you, Commander,” Athentia smirked as Caleb leaned over to try and get a look at her. Right now, with her smug demeanor, Iras couldn’t help but wonder if the diabolical asari was related to Aria T’lok at all. She made a mental note to check that out.

She spent two hours like this, surrounded by her colleagues, relaxing and keeping her mind off the alert that buzzed on her wrist every ten minutes. She knew what the alert was for. Hackett and his team worked to create her personal identity for infiltrating the Suns, and she would need at least two weeks to ingrain every aspect of the alias into her very pores. Though, she didn’t expect it to come in so quick. When Caleb and Athentia started arguing over the best way to utilize their dashes in conjunction with their blades, something that Iras would never have to worry about, she excused herself and decided that if she ignored the notice anymore she would be a terrible marine.

So, as she made her way back into her quarters, locking the door behind her, she steeled herself for the coming news. The alias made the mission real. She would be in Terminus space for four months, without backup, without an easy way to contact Command, and without the usual faces of the academy around her. In the last couple of months, she’d grown complacent. She grew to like the pace, the routine, and the structure that living a life on base provided. The thought of returning to the chaos of active, deep cover duty made her stomach churn. Part of it was the knowledge that James might progress farther up the ladder of command at the ICT, that he could very well reach N5 while she was gone, and that would provide a plethora of other problems on her return. Another troubling aspect of this whole thing with Vega was the idea that, in her absence, he might drop their relationship all together. She wouldn’t blame him. Four months would be a long separation for something that was supposed to be casual.

All these anxieties pulsed through her veins, pushing around like ice water, as she walked over to her computer. She pulled the chair out, sat down, and flicked the screen on. Her fears instantly ebbed away, and in its wake was left a sense of humor and chastisement at herself. In her inbox sat an email from her cousin in London, the very one Hackett had tried to divert the subject of her mission with the day before. Relieved, and heaving a sigh to relax her rattled nerves, she opened the message with a small sliver of a grin.

Sure enough, her cousin was still seeing that turian general. Her cousin, Allison Bennet, enlisted shortly after the Battle for the Citadel, and after Iras had been confined to solitary. She had no flare for combat, but she went to medical school and graduated with top honors from Harvard Medical. From there, she fast tracked her into Heurta, and managed to evacuate from the Citadel just as the Reapers invaded. When the final battle was over, and so many were injured and dying, her skills came in sharp relief, and she led a team to triage and assist wherever they could. She had been assigned to the hospital the Shepard currently recuperated in, and while there she personally oversaw the recovery of a very high ranking turian general—a cousin himself to Primarch Adrien Victus.

The latest email contained a series of effusions on her cousin’s current conflict. Her all but husband got his return orders to Palaven, and he was duty bound to answer the call. With the Relays working now between council home worlds, he had little reason to stay, and unless he resigned his position-which is unheard of in turian society when one reaches such a high, honorable position-there was no way for him to remain on Earth. Frankly, as Iras read it, she was impressed that he managed to delay his departure for so long. Her cousin’s doing, no doubt. She would have little qualm with writing to the Meritocracy about the condition of the general being too poor to transport him back to Palaven. But, now with the war being a year over, and with the general’s wounds completely healed, they ran out of excuses.

So, the question stood, would Iras mind if Allison moved with her general to Palaven?

Her first reaction was that of disbelief it even had to be asked. Of course she didn’t mind. The idea that Iras, of all people, would care if her cousin moved off world to be with the turian she loved was laughable. But, the more she thought about it, the more it gave her pause. Her mother and father laid to rest, Allison’s brother MIA and presumed dead after Cerberus got their hands on him for project Trapdoor, and the rest of her family still scattered to the solar winds due to the war left her with one undeniable fact. Even though her cousin lived in London, if she left, Iras would be alone. Truly, and completely, alone.

Iras sank down onto her elbows, resting her chin against her laced fingers, and staring at the screen. The realization sunk in like a heavy stone in her gut. Though she and her cousin talked little, and hadn’t seen one another in person since she left London six months prior, the idea of having to take an actual space ship to go visit her was daunting. With the Relays functional it would take, at most, half a day to get there. It wasn’t that far. But, the distance made the knowledge of all her family being gone that much more salient.

Iras scrubbed her eyes with her palms, and exhaled for as long as she could.

It couldn’t be helped, though. She refused to stand in the way of happiness for her cousin. They both had gone through enough with Allison’s brother’s kidnapping, the last thing they needed was the knowledge that love came knocking for one of them, and the other stood in the way all because she was afraid to be alone.

Iras replied to the email as much. She said that she couldn’t wait to be invited to the wedding, if turians had those-did they have those? if so Iras demanded to be the maid of honor-and that she couldn’t wait to come visit the slowly restored Palaven. She’d never been to the turian home world, and she told her cousin that Allison simply had to send her personal pictures—after all, professional photos on the extranet only did so much. Most of all, Iras concluded, she wanted her cousin to have fun, and to call or write if there were ever a problem. And, in a final signature, that if her turian general broke her heart, she would break his mandibles off and shove them up his cloaca, with no lube.

Pressing send, Iras leaned back in her chair, and glanced at the clock on her wall. She considered putting on something other than her casual combat fatigues for the movie James wanted to go see, but her energy seemed to have been sapped from the email. Instead, she stretched in her chair, relishing in the delicious soreness her body sang with. Every muscle, every inch of her body was tired from last night and this morning, and areas she forgot could feel the strain were now aching thanks to James.

She wouldn’t tell him that, though. At least, not for a couple more years.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where were you all last night?”

James saw the question coming a mile away. He came back down to his dorm at almost one that afternoon, and that was only so that he could create a solid alibi for where he’d be later. That and he needed a change of clothes. Though, he did take a few sniffs of his shirt as he rode down in the elevator, grinning like an idiot at the fact that it still smelled like Iras even from her short time in it. He still felt the small sting of disappointment when she came out the bathroom fully clothed, and not in a small towel. He supposed that would have to stick to fantasy for now. When he got back to the dorm, Tanaka had been returning from morning classes, his books spread out on his bed, and furiously working over a new pet formula he’d been working on.

James had been gone too long to go unnoticed. He wasn’t on liberty, not until today, so his absence the night before, especially considering his apparent fight with his lover Caleb, had led to bubbling curiosity in the engineer’s mind.

James played it cool and stripped his shirt off, though reminding himself to not wash it for a while later.

“Oh, you know, here and there,” he offered as he fished through his footlocker for a change of clothing. As sexy as he found Iras’ smell, he didn’t like the idea of wearing the same clothes as yesterday on his not-date.

“Evidently here and there has some serious claw power,” Tanaka said as he leaned back on his bed and quirked a brow at James. James flared his nostrils, but managed to keep his cool. He shoved a shirt over his head, covering the crisscross of scratches Iras had left along his back. They stung in the shower, but it had hurt so good.

“Well, gotta let the stress out somehow.”

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Hey, I’m hurt, you don’t think I could pull a dude?”

“Oh, you could, by all means. You’re the perfect bear, James. Very _bara_ ,” Tanaka turned crossed his ankles, and wore the biggest smirk that James had ever seen. James knew his rant about not being here to bang anyone, and that he wouldn’t, while he was here would bite him in the ass.

“Damn right.”

“But, you’re straight as an arrow. Sure, you flirt with dudes, but you wouldn’t actually let one do you.”

“Hey,” James straightened from pulling his boots off, intending to change pants as well. He didn’t want to wear just his common, everyday fatigues. No, he wanted to look spiffed up, he wanted to make Iras think _damn_ when she saw him next. “I’m not into the idea of being done, I’m more a doing type of a person.”

“See, and that’s my point,” Tanaka pointed with the end of his pen, his dark eyes narrowing. “So, I reiterate, who’s the lucky lady?”

James chuckled as he shucked his pants off. “She would prefer to remain a mystery.”

Tanaka clicked his tongue to the rough of his mouth, rolling his eyes. “Right. Convenient.”

“It’s true.”

Tanaka leaned forward, watching James dress in a purely calculating way. He studied his face, and watched each tick of James’ brow, and every downturn of his lip as the marine tried to conceal anything that might reveal it was Iras. He succeeded, but only partially.

“Then she’s an upperclassman.”

“How the hell can you tell that? Maybe she’s one of the new recruits? That blond in Hell is cute. Nice tits.”

“Because someone in Hell wouldn’t give you the time of day, they’re too fucking tired to even think. And it’s not anyone in N2, because Anne is the most lesbian lesbian to ever lesbian,” Tanaka smirked again, one that spread from ear to ear. James decided he’d said enough. The more ammo he gave the genius kid, the more likely he was that he would manage to fish out that it was Iras that left the marks. “So, it’s gotta be an upperclassman. The question is, which one.”

James remained silent, trying to school his face so that he didn’t smile, but failing anyway. He pulled on a pair of dark grey mixed fiber trousers, content with the slack fit, but still a little dressier look than his fatigues. He patted the pockets of the pants, attempting to flatten them down after having been folded up for so long, and then shifted to look at himself in the mirror. One thing he learned about Tanaka since their time in Hell? He was a peacock. Though he dressed only in dark colors, and only in fatigues the majority of the time, he made damn sure he looked good in those. He spent more time on his hair than James thought was possible. But, today, even James glanced his hair over, pulling the tips of his fauxhawk up a bit stiffer, and ruffling his hands along the buzzed sides.

If he concentrated, he could still feel the pressure of Iras’ fingers on his scalp, rasping her nails around as she groaned his name. He swallowed, and stifled the surge of arousal at the imagery. He had plenty of time to revel in his adept, he didn’t want to come on too strong too fast.

“You’re looking might fancy,” Tanaka said, his eyes narrowing to small, nearly black slits.

“I’m going to the local bar, and felt like a change. Wanted to give the local ladies something to look at.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

“Don’t be jealous.”

“Flattering, Vega, but you are not my type,” Tanaka laughed, sitting up. He flipped through his notes, having had enough of teasing James for the night. But, James took advantage of the small pivot in the conversation. Not often did James find himself in a position to take hold of the discussions held between them. Most of the time, Tanaka did the steering, and most of the time, Tanaka did the thinking. Sure, James enjoyed deep, philosophical conversations-it’s amazing what one talks about at four in the morning if both of you have a war flashback-but sometimes he just enjoyed to listen to the engineer wax on about his new ideas.

“Oh? And who is your type? Not big, like me, not a _bear_. Nah, you probably like them small, lithe, but still built, and fast. Lemme guess, you prefer biotics? I heard they can do… fun… stuff with their powers,” James felt a small tingle run through his body at the memory of Iras’ first, and so far last, attempt at using a biotic pulse during sex. Though shocking at the time, it now peaked James interest, and he wanted to try it again. With their first round under his belt, James now could relax and entertain thoughts of just what else to do with his adept.

His statement hit its mark and Tanaka’s face burned bright red. He whipped around and stared, wide eyed, at James, his mouth slowly opening then closing.

“No… no… I don’t. For all you know I could like other engineers.”

“Right, smarty pants people tend to either mesh or clash. I’ve seen you with the other engineers, you think they’re all idiots.” Another trait that James found in Tanaka was a sense of superiority. The kid had an IQ that went off the damn charts, but he sucked at social interaction with anyone but Anne, Iras, and James.

Tanaka mouthed at him as if he were offended he knew, then pursed his lips into a small, tight, white circle, nearly making his lips disappear. His dark eyes glittered, and for a second James was unsure if he was about to be attacked, but his features slowly relaxed, and James noticed the flash of something dark pass over Tanaka’s face.

“What do you know?”

“It’s cool, I’m not going to tell anyone,” James dropped his joking tone, seeing his jesting might have been taking it too far. Tanaka frowned, then looked down at his notes. James ran his hand over the nape of his neck, feeling the slight bruise where Iras had bit him harder than necessary earlier that morning, and sat on his bed. “I’m sorry, I went too far.”

“No, no, it’s fine. If I can dish it out I need to be able to take it,” Tanaka stated. He flexed his hands, staring down at his palms with a distant look.

“Didn’t know you went for the broody types,” James offered, a lilting tone to his voice as a kind of olive branch of peace.

Tanaka scoffed. “He only broods when he’s upset. He’s just hard to read.”

“You wanna talk about what you fought about?”

Tanaka shot him another bewildered look, his eyes wild. It occurred to James that he hadn’t told the kid he knew just who he was seeing, and how he knew it. James licked his lips, and smoothed his hands over his thighs.

“Look… If I tell you who I’m _with,_ we’ll be on even playing fields, right?”

The panic in Tanaka’s eyes subsided, and a dim realization dawned in his gaze. His stiff posture eased, and he cocked his head to the side.

“The only one he’d talk to about the fight is First Lieutenant Bennet. You’re fucking Iras.”

“Hey, I was going to actually tell you that. You didn’t need to do the whole Sherlock Holmes thing.”

“I mean, I figured it’d happen eventually, I just didn’t think it’d be this fast.” Tanaka sat up fully, running his thumb over his chin in thought. He knitted his brows together, as if trying to trace every time he saw the adept and soldier together, and James didn’t appreciate when he let out a small gasp. “Of course! I should’ve seen it sooner.”

“Wait, what?”

“Three weeks ago you came up from the lobby looking entirely too happy for having almost no sleep the night before. It should’ve been obvious. I’m so stupid.”

“Well, see, that’s actually complicated,” he offered, but Tanaka’s head was already off and running. James wanted to clear the air, inform Tanaka that actual sex, penetrative kind, hadn’t happened until last night, but the boy genius was too engrossed in working out the finer details of James’ trysts to be bothered with minute facts. Well, at least it got him out of James’ hair as he prepared for his not-date.

 

* * *

 

 

They agreed to meet somewhere off base. Meeting up and then walking off together, with James dressed up, even though they’d done so many times before to peruse the local bar scene back when he first arrived, just screamed of something they didn’t want found out. Instead, they agreed to meet a bit away from base, at a small little rest stop a quarter of a mile away. They would slip out, sneak away, and have yet more personal time together. Though, as Iras stood leaned against the street light, her arms crossed under her chest, she began to ponder that this was a terrible idea.

The more she dwelled on it, the more it seemed to be a date of sorts to her. Granted, it was just a movie, they weren’t going out to eat or have drinks or any other cliché afterwards, but it smacked of emotional bonding. They teetered on a fine edge, and it set her jaw clenching. She couldn’t afford something other than what they had with James. She left in a month for a quarter of a year, and it was too much to ask from either of them for her, or for him, to keep that bond going during that time. Her duties as deep cover might need her to do things he wouldn’t like, if they got much closer. Meanwhile, if she allowed James in, and while she was gone he found another person to relieve his stress with, she wasn’t sure she could deal with that.

The forest hummed around her, the sun having set thirty minutes ago, leaving the horizon a deep purple and the sky overhead a heavy navy. Stars dotted here and there, but with the almost restored local infrastructure, light pollution blotted out most of the bright spots. The road was littered with the occasional street light to help illuminate the way towards the base, an old throwback to a century ago when they didn’t just use hovering light sources. No, on the side stretch towards the academy, it reminded her a lot of the old vids from the year 2000 AD, before they took the idea of space exploration seriously.

So, as the cool Brazilian night air pricked at her arms and face, she began to think her wearing something other than combat fatigues was a bad idea. This whole situation was an exercise in bad ideas. But, still she waited, with her head churning, and her gut knotted.

That was, until the soft hum of a small shuttle started making its way down the road. She swore under her breath, and made to activate what little stealthing equipment she had on her omni, when it pulled beside her. She’d just managed to pull the program up, and was frantically punching in the sequence, cursing her luck for having forgotten the exact coding, when the four door vessel’s side window rolled down. The sardonic quirk of a brow, and the twist of a lip, instantly calmed her nerves.

“Fucking hell, James. Almost gave me a heart attack,” Iras hissed.

James had his arm around the side seat of the small shuttle, more of a car but painted with Alliance colors, and cocked his head at her.

“Hey, sexy lady, need a lift somewhere?”

“How did you manage to procure a car for the evening?” Iras leaned against the light post again, waiting for his story. Truthfully, she wanted to get in the car, to stop leaning against the hard surface of the light source behind her, but her background thoughts still warned against progressing with James any further.

“I got a buddy in the garage. You gonna get in or am I going to have to meet you there in an hour?”

“God, this is so like high school.”

“What, did you meet devastatingly good-looking men on the side of the road in Brazil in high school? I’m shocked, Bennet.”  James pressed a hand to his chest, feigning a look of bemusement and injury, before he snickered. The door slid open, and he motioned her in.

She rolled her eyes, before taking in what James was wearing. Looks like he, too, had decided that just wearing their normal clothing seemed a bit… casual. More alarm bells rung in her head, told her off, warned her to just go home, tell him this was a mistake, all of whatever they were was a mistake, but instead she shrugged, and eased her way into the car. The door slid closed with a mechanical hiss, and she just managed to buckle herself in when she heard James let out a long, low sound of appreciation.

Iras shot him a look, and he cleared his throat, a sly grin spreading from ear to ear.

“Sorry, sorry, you just… you clean up good. I forgot how good you look in things other than fatigues.”

Iras’ cheeks heated under the compliment. Truthfully, she just threw on the nearest shirt that wasn’t a tank top or Alliance regulation she had in her closet. Her shirt was a simple dark navy blouse that scooped a bit in the front, just enough to show off the barest hint of cleavage, before tapering off into giant sleeves—the kind she could fight in if the need arose. She scratched at her neck as he put the vehicle in gear, and it lifted higher off the ground.

“Thanks. You look pretty good yourself, James. Glad to see you own pants other than cammo,” she teased.

James barked out a laugh, and began to imput their destination. A comfortable silence soon settled over the two as the flashes of light of the lampposts passed overhead, the only break in an otherwise darkened drive. Iras settled back into the passenger seat, a lazy smile starting to snake its way over her features.

Maybe, for once, she’d ignore the little voice in the back of her head. After all, it was just a movie.


	16. Toeing the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, guys! I had major writer's block, but now I'm back. 
> 
> Anyway. While James undergoes his test for N3 qualifications, Iras is left with the impending reality of her deployment, and what that might mean for the rest of the galaxy. Though capable, spirits of the past continue to haunt our brave warriors, even as James and Iras grow closer.

**Chapter Sixteen:**

**Toeing the water**

James attempted to cage his racing heart. Today was the day that he fought for his promotion. He felt like a gladiator, all brawn and bravado, as he latched his armor on, adjusted his visor, and tweaked the weapons handed to him. His first test came at a reasonable ten o’clock that morning, with his proctor making an appearance into the locker room with her hand on her hip and his test parameters in her grip. He recognized her as one of the newly returned N7’s, he heard she did her time on one of the Salarian housed planets, beating back Reapers and eating little shits like him for breakfast. His nerves, he remembered, leapt into his throat and lodged there like an unruly squatter that refused to evicted by code-control. The first test would be over his tactical command of a situation, and his ability to take control of a battlefield while on single duty. An N7, though a leader, also had to be an indomitable singular soldier, and today James would prove his metal.

He pushed his way into the waiting room, the door sealing shut behind him. It was only large enough for him to shift to check his seals, and to watch the tech nerds behind the glass press buttons and start gesturing to each other. A red clock displayed the countdown for the second door before him, until it opened, until he was set free to do what James did best. Any nervousness that gripped him before left with the seal of that door, the hiss having a strange, soothing effect on his body. His brain rained down the information he’d learned in the past month over combat tactics, cover deployment, specialist weaknesses, and military strategy. This stage, James realized as a feral grin began to crease his features, would be a walk in the park.

Hell, he survived serving under Shepard, what the fuck could the test possibly do to unman him now?

Well, unless they randomly threw his newest obsession into the middle of the arena stark naked, but he imagined Iras would sooner slaughter every proctor on the face of the planet before allowing such foolishness. He puffed a breath when the timer hit zero, and the door opened with a loud, booming bass: the first phase of his test was on.

* * *

 

 

Space, it was said, could drive a person mad. The vastness of it all drowned some people, took in their brains, soaked them in all the possibilities that existed in that open wilderness, and drove them over an invisible edge. The human brain, though so small, could house a universe all its own, and in it, a person could be lost within themselves. Space Sickness they first called it when mankind started to expand outwards. So many fell to it within the first decade of Jump Zero that it became a recognized cognitive disorder by the Alliance Established Mental Health Board. It came with compensation and everything for the family members left to deal with their all but comatose relatives—not that it was enough. Nothing the Alliance did was ever enough when it came to a loss of life. Nothing anyone did brought back that vibrant personality, those eyes, and the light that made a person a person and not… whatever the fuck they became when struck down with the SS.

Iras Bennet didn’t understand the sickness, though. As she looked out on the stars hundred, thousands, or millions of light-years away her small chest filled with a tightness, a wanting her eight-year-old brain couldn’t comprehend. A restlessness stirred within her whenever she stared out into that expanse, and her brain churned with possibility. Every star was a solar system, like their own, like the Sol System, and in that system if just the right conditions were met, other creatures could exist. They could be like Man, smart, fast, and ever growing. She wondered what they looked like. Did they look like the turians? Or the asari? Were there even more races than just the council races? Her small heart raced at the aspect that all this existed within the Milky Way, and mulled over the idea of what other galaxies might hold. The asari had a word for curiosity like hers, but she never remembered it, not until one of those beautiful blue women with fascinating hair came aboard to discuss important military drivel with Hackett.

But, her mother didn’t like her staring out into space for too long. She was of the generation where SS was still fresh in her mind, and she didn’t want her only daughter to fall victim to its ruthless grasp. Though her father understood her thirst, he didn’t approve of her constant itching to explore—mostly because it led to her finding her way into areas of the warship she shouldn’t be in.

Like now. She wrung her hands in front of her, small, with fingers not yet accustomed to controlling the bursts of pure energy that manifested mere months before.

“What have I said about going into the cargo bay? What if you have one of your episodes? There’s sensitive equipment down there, and your biotics,” her father’s heated, though lowered voice was interrupted by the asari that had found her. She stepped forward, placing a purple tinged hand on Iras’ shoulder. It was the first time that the human girl would note that the asari race didn’t have the same heat in their fingers and hands that other species did. Instead, their touch cooled, calmed, and soothed.

“Did not activate, Major.”

“I’m terribly sorry for all of this, my Lady. I’ll just get my daughter out of your way. I’m sure you’re far too busy to-”

The ambassador’s retainer bowed her head, a silent signal for her father to stop talking. He firmed his thin lips, and gave her a tentative, if not concerned, glance. His bright grey eyes shone with a kind of fear she didn’t recognize, and wouldn’t understand until she was older and in her own command. Terrified she had insulted the retainer, he watched the asari carefully, his vain attempt at a mustache quivering.

“Your daughter is one of the first human children I have come across with the gift for biotics. I had thought your people unable to harness Dark Energy. It would appear we are wrong.” Before her father could answer, could defend the uptick of biotics in the ranks of the human species, the asari kneeled down to Iras’ eye level. Iras teetered at the age of growth. Her limbs were too long, grown too fast for her to be as graceful as the alien before her, and her skin bloomed with freckles across her nose. Her hair, though not as stark white as a few years ago due to Earth’s omnipresent summer sun, still burned a light blond, and the clothes given to her by an older girl on board tented over her rail thin body. She made an awkward figure compared to the creature before her.

Iras wanted to touch the tendrils that formed the asari crests, and found the intricate pattern that was painted onto them far too interesting. They swirled and darted, and only later would she learn they noted where an asari was from, just like the paint that decorated turian faces. She swallowed when the woman held out her hand, and a small wave of blue energy flashed over her fingers. It swirled, like water, dancing around the digits, hissing in the cabin air around them. The colors varied the longer it lingered, from a deep, void-like blue, to a brilliant white that nearly blinded like a sun.

“My people have the gift as well. It is a wonderful ability to be blessed with. You needn’t fear it.”

“Lady Analith, I’m sure that the ambassador…”

“Is still in talks with Hackett. How long has your daughter’s ability been active?”

Iras reached for the still swirling energy, her eyes wide. She didn’t know such control was possible. Whenever her abilities activated, it burned. It started with a building discomfort, a disquiet within her stomach that knotted, and purged its way to just under her skin. She felt it burn, sear, at every inch of her body. Her hair would start to stand on end, and she felt the shocks of something like static jumping from every pore of her body. Then, just when she felt she would burst with it, when she thought she could stomach no more, it pushed its way out of her in a massive wave. Last time, Iras overturned her bed and shook the side of the hull her quarters were on. Hackett broached the subject of sending her to Jump Zero that day, an idea her family stoutly refused.

Jacob Bennet was a smart man. He graduated top of his class at the Alliance Academy in the America’s, and became one of the best navigators the fleet ever saw. He could figure out that trajectory of a particle shot coming at them as it curved around a planets gravitational well, and would be able to move the ship just enough that the shields could take the smallest hit possible. He was all these things, but he feared for his daughter. Though he attempted to hide his terror at what she was from Iras’ notice, he failed. She saw it in the way he looked at her after an attack, how his eyes widened and his mouth went slack. All that said, though, he was a good man.

He licked his lower lip, and ran a hand over the nape of his neck.

“About a month,” he conceded.

“You may touch it, if you wish,” Analith smiled at Iras. Her features were smooth, even with the pattern of soft scales over her face. Iras’ eyes flashed to where the colors blurred and swirled around the asari’s hand. So different from her own… whenever Iras attempted to control her biotics it stormed like a maelstrom, while Analith’s was like a calm winter’s wind.

She reached out, afraid at first. When her index finger passed into the charged field, every nerve in her body sang. The energy beneath the surface of her skin stirred, and she felt the familiar pulse within, but this time it was calm. As if in recognition, it pressed forward into her own hand, and began to join with the asari’s field. Perplexed, Iras pressed her palm to Analith’s, her brows furrowing. It felt… like joy. It felt like by joining with the asari’s own biotic field that she somehow became a part of something larger, something that encompassed everything around them. Through the momentary connection, her body began to feel light, her knees weak but grounded at the same time, and she felt she could control every spark of dark energy around herself, that the universe was hers to both command and become part of.

She drew her hand back with a small gasp, and held the appendage as if she’d been burned. Iras stared down at the tingling fingers while her nerves still floated on a kind of nirvana she wouldn’t experience for years to come.

“She shall be fine, with proper training. I suggest hiring a tutor. What is that you humans use… implants?”

“Yes.”

“She will need one of those as soon as she is able,” Analith stood, leaving Iras to stare down at her palms in wonderment.

“I… I’ve heard they can have terrible side-effects.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Iras tuned out the rest of their conversation, uninterested in the politics that came with human biotics and the troubles she would face in the future even with absolute control of her powers. Instead, she ruminated on the fact that, when joined with Analith for whatever short period of time, she felt every inch of the galaxy stretched before her. Within her resided the same power that held stars together, that powered the Mass Relay’s, and that made the very universe expand and grow. Her curiosity was now lit like a massive torch, impossible to quench. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Your current students have all been reassigned to give them time to adjust to new instructors until their next exams,” Hackett droned, flipping through the usual debriefing he gave to instructing students that were assigned on long assignments during the semesters. Iras attempted to look like she was absorbing all the information being tossed at her, but she could only hear the same thing over and over again with different wording due to liability reasons so many times before she wanted to set the data pad on fire. Hackett cleared his throat, frustration evident on his face, and to her surprise he grumbled and tossed the pad down. “I figure you know the rest, Bennet.”

“Sir,” she acknowledged. She shifted in her at-ease position, grasping her hands a little harder behind her back. Today was the day of James’ test, but she couldn’t be distracted by being stressed over the fact that his time slot for the second portion was quickly approaching. She had to pay attention to the fact that, finally, Hackett and his team had worked up a functioning dossier for her assignment to infiltrate the Suns.

Hackett’s hologram crossed his arms and cocked his head at her.

“You’re the best shot we got at this, kid. Get that new personality down, that persona is key for this mission. We don’t know how much information on you they possibly have. They’re thriving despite having cut ties with Aria, and even she can’t seem to touch the main base. You’ll be on your own.”

Iras narrowed her eyes, nodded, and stared at him in resolute determination. Though she hated deep undercover, she could only think of the amount of shit that could go wrong with the Suns holding the corpse hostage. Though, the fact that not even the queen of Omega could hunt down the new headquarters of the Suns had her teeth on edge.

“You’ve been in _communication_ with T’Loak?” Iras asked, cautiously.

Hackett nodded, though slowly, as if ashamed he had reached out to the seedy underbelly of the galaxy. Though not often prone to reveal the occasional underhanded dealings the Alliance Military made, the fact that he so readily offered up the information in such a formal debriefing caught her off guard.

“Unfortunately. With the alliance Shepard formed during the Reaper War, we’ve been able to keep communication and cooperation with Aria open and free flowing. She was just as pissed off as we were when she learned the information you gathered back on that station.”

“You gave her that?” Iras snapped her mouth shut after her astonishment forced her words out of her mouth. She swallowed, hard, and prayed that Hackett didn’t feel like making it a point that, on this mission, she was just another soldier and not a family friend.

To her chagrin, his features soured.

“I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission to perform necessary communications to help rebuild the galaxy.”

Iras kept her lips glued together. She waited until Hackett’s lips returned from their severe line, to bow her head a bit.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s a different world out there, Bennet. Sacrifices needed to be made, compromises needed to be haggled, and that is just one of many. We needed, need, Aria’s cooperation to reestablish ourselves in the Terminus Systems; billions could die otherwise.”

“Understood.”

“There’s already murmurs of preferential treatment, Bennet. Don’t give them more fuel for the fire. You need to treat me like you treat all your other SO’s.”

The knowledge that others began to take notice of her… lack of deference with Hackett had her disconcerted. Her time on his ship as a girl shouldn’t color her treatment of the head of the whole damn Navy, though having been all but raised by Hackett and his crew left her struggling to adapt. During the war it’d been easier. Sure, she reported to directly to him, but the threat of a Reaper dropping hell on your head every second of every day did wonders for a brusque tone and a curt nod. Hackett looked behind himself, his form hissing in the hologram for a split moment.

“W-wha…warh…” Hackett’s voice came out in stuttering, hissing garbles, and she knew at once that something was wrong with the feed.

“Sir?” Iras stepped towards the projector. His image distorted, pulled to the side, and the speakers let out an unsettling warble before Hackett flickered from view. Iras scowled, slowly coming out of position, and glanced around her apartment. Interference? But, how? There were no projected neutron storms to hit earth within the decade, and even if there were the communication arrays had been buffered against any such interference immediately after the war. Nothing should cut off the communicator, much less one with such a secure connection as the one in Hackett’s personal headquarters. Her mouth went a bit dry, and her mind reeled, trying to explain away the dropped call.

She waited in front of the device, wringing her hands. Minutes ticked by, and when it was obvious that the call wouldn’t be continued-that whatever had cut Hackett off was still persisting-she huffed. Iras crossed her quarters to where the data pad with all the new information on the mission had been downloaded.

Her new persona stared her in the face. Line after line of deep cover providing information stared up at her as she scrolled. Mentions of her former life as Alliance, of her serving in the War, all the way down to how she’d gotten the scar on her face were included. They devised the cover that she had become dissatisfied with the Alliance after the war, that she had become disgruntled due to a lack of promotion in the wake of the liberation of Earth. When she didn’t show back up for the reinstatement of the N7 program, Hackett berated her. Iras smirked when she read just what the report told on what the admiral had called her, and how she had been given solitary, again. When she resisted solitary, she was discharged, though thanks to the link to Hackett’s personal life her records were sealed and all links to the admiral expunged. It was a good backstory, and one that gave her a good foothold.

This would be the first time she used her own life as world building. Every other time she’d gone undercover, she was assigned a new identity, a new life, a new start, and a new personality. This time, all she had to don was the contempt of her government, and a massive chip on her shoulder. The memorizing of material for a year, versus a full twenty-seven, was a welcome reprieve. She didn’t revel in having to play a deserter, but whatever the job demanded of her, she did.

Iras plopped into her arm chair, and refused to look at the clock on the wall. By now, James’ second proctor would be revealed, and he would be sent spiraling into pure, unadulterated terror. She almost wished it weren’t against regulations to tell the students who their opponents would be—after all, she would want to be told if she had to go toe-to-toe with the likes of Athentia.

By the end of the day, James would more than likely be promoted to N3, and be that much closer to graduating. Iras compared his rise through the ranks with her own. Though she started later in her naval carrier than most others here, she had kept up with even the youngest and most energetic present. In fact, she probably would have graduated by now if it weren’t for the Reaper invasion. Iras winced, trying to avoid remembering watching out the port window as those things came screaming through the darkness. She didn’t realize something could be so large, and yet look so… animate. They blocked out all of space around them, and their bodies had seemed to suck in all the light around them. The largest one opened its… arms… and that damn flash of red light, heat, and death came jutting out. Jump Zero never stood a chance.

She firmed her lips together, realizing the more she tried to not think of her first sighting of the Reapers, the more it stuck in her brain. She took in deep, calming breaths, her knuckles now white against the data pad’s groaning corners.

Perhaps, she thought with a shudder, now would be a good time to head to the commons. She didn’t feel like being alone.

 

* * *

 

 

With a crow of victory, James survived the timer while in control of his position. The field had been broken up into a large diamond shape, with haphazard cover thrown about for good measure. However, the one spot he saw that would lend itself to perfect positioning was one that didn’t stick out at first, and wouldn’t to a rookie. It was a corner, and though a place he usually was wont to avoid like the plague, it had sheer faces on either side, and there would be no place for someone to take cover from James should they try to rush his position. To his surprise, there was no biotic in the first test, and so he contended only with engineers and soldiers, like himself. Once he had that spot, that one place that dictated the flow of battle and allowed himself a kind of chokepoint for his enemies to dare to come at him, he won the match.

When the buzzer sounded, James undid the latches on the bottom of his helmet, and pulled it free of his seals. He gulped in the hot air of the arena, basking in the near orgasmic glow of his triumph. He wondered if they somehow broadcast his win. He wanted everyone to see how well he did. It was textbook, and James knew it.

Maybe they’d put him _in_ the textbooks just for that performance.

 

Iras padded her way into the common room on her floor, rubbing her temples. No matter how much she distracted herself with the knowledge that James’ future in the program was being determined today, that she should be more concerned with that, the blaring of sirens and the flashing of red light over smooth, hideously large black bodies wouldn’t leave her brain. She idly thought on going to the infirmary, after all having flashes like this was one of the things they were supposed to report. But, a stubborn pride she inherited from  her mother shot the idea down the second it surfaced, and she was left to self-medicate with the presence of the only people she could tolerate during such times.

The bright purple markings of colony space caught Iras’ eye before the swell of asari crests did. Smiling to herself, Iras made her way to stand behind the fellow biotic as she watched the playoffs of biotiball. Evidently, the human team had, again, made it to the semi-finals, squaring the Maestros and the Sorcerers against each other for the first time since the end of the War. One of the Maestros had just managed to blitz a ball passed a particularly weak shield of a human defender when Iras clicked her tongue.

“You watch this shit?”

“Hey, hey, this is good, wholesome entertainment!” Athentia protested. She shot Iras a sardonic dirty look, and settled back into the couch. She motioned the adept to take a seat next to her, but currently, Iras preferred to stand. Something about feeling like her skin was crawling, that her muscles were bursting with the sudden urge to sprint in whatever reason and to keep running until she couldn’t walk made the very idea of sitting on a soft couch abhorrent. When she didn’t sit, Athentia shot her a contemplative stare.

“Damn, Bennet, you look like the underside of a Yaag.”

Iras wrinkled her nose. Just picturing the flappy, saggy, moldy skin of the Yaag made her want to wretch. At least that cut through the siren blaring, though.

“Thanks for that image.”

“You’re welcome. But, yeah,” Athentia turned fully to face her friend. Her brows knit as best they could, and her lips pursed. “You feeling okay? You look like paste.”

“Is this how asari show they care?” Iras evaded.

“Bennet…”

Iras had a snappy comeback prepared, but the concern reflected on Athentia’s face made her falter. Finally, she sighed and hung her head a bit.

“I’ve been really stressed out lately and haven’t been able to sleep.” Well, stress and a certain someone made it difficult to get a full eight hours recently. Honestly, how many times James could go in a single night baffled her. Sometimes she forgot about their age difference, but others like today where her joints still ached from his repeated pursuit after seeing that movie served as a swift reminder.

“What about?”

“I…” Iras snorted. She wasn’t good at lying to Athentia, not after all the shit they went through together while she helped out Delta. But, this was something Iras had to shoulder alone, at least until it was all over. “I have a big mission coming up, and I’m kinda wigging out about it.”

“Deep cover?”

Iras didn’t answer, and that was all Athentia needed. Her eyes darkened a bit, understanding dawning across her face, and a somber cast coming over her features.

“Shit, no wonder you look like crap.”

“Yeah.”

“When are you deploying?”

“Can’t say.”

“I suppose you couldn’t, huh? Well,” Athentia again offered the couch, though only half-heartedly. She turned back to the game, turned the volume down to where the announcer was just shy of a whisper. The others in the room weren’t watching, they all had their own data pads out, or were refreshing the results of their student’s tests every few minutes. Iras appreciated the muffled silence, let it wash over her, as she leaned against the back of the couch, and rested her chin on Athentia’s crests. The cool scales provided a needed texture and temperature difference to fully silence the screaming in her head, and the game in front of her soon filtered out the slick, too smooth black hulls of the reapers.

“Caleb is gonna be jealous if you keep this up.”

“Shhhh, don’t spoil the moment, you stupid cuttlefish.”

 

* * *

 

 

Four more ranks. The idea that James needed just four more ranks to become an N7 now sang in his veins. It rumbled through him, made him shake with a confusing mixture of joy, adrenaline, and excitement that he hadn’t known since seeing the first Reaper corpse go down. Just a year, tops, and he would be up there with the likes of Shepard, Anderson, and countless others he looked up to. He would have his face along the halls of the academy, he would have his name recorded forever as someone not just under Shepard’s command, but as his own person.

James let the cold air of night bite at his skin. He gripped his passing mark in his hand, and his new rank gave him access to the next level of the barracks. He was to move his things into the third level the second he had the time. He supposed it was a good thing he didn’t have anything other than shirts, a few pants, a few models of the Normandy, and some random little mementos from his time scattered about as a grunt. All that would fit in a single box, and would take a grand total of five minutes to move into his larger room. Though curiosity gnawed at him, he didn’t know how much larger it would be, or if he would still be bunked with Tanaka, by himself, or with someone new, he plunked down in the grass the second he cleared the main building.

Ackers rubbed him the wrong way, and after every debriefing with the man he felt he needed to decompress. He had an aura about him, a pressure, which if James said or did anything just a little off color, that he’d have him kicked out. He also practically swam in his cologne, which did not help matters. So, as James sat in the cool grass and stared up at the night sky, he felt a familiar peace. Though he enjoyed his time on Earth, planet side, he also wanted to get back up there. There was something about the blackness of space, of the expanse, of not knowing what was around the next corner, of knowing that every star out there was a system that held countless possibilities made him want to move, to explore. That romantic side of his brain, the explorer that never grew up from his time wandering the wastes with his tito, saw James through so many of the hardships he’d faced he came to realize it was the fuel of his soul. If he had a soul. James was still a bit up in the air about the whole religion thing.

He sank back and lay in the grass for who knows how many minutes. The lights around him began to go out one by one, informing him of the late hour, and he mulled over the fact that soon he’d be out passed curfew. But, the buzz of his victory, of his promotion, deterred all desire to move. That, and he was fucking exhausted from two full scale battles, and one mental gauntlet. Honestly, they should call the N3 entry exam purgatory if they called the first month hell.

“James?”

James started awake, unaware he’d dozed off. He turned his head, enjoying the prickle of the blades of grass against his scalp, and spotted Iras standing a few yards shy of him on the main walkway. She raised her brows near to her hairline, glanced from the main building, then back to the barracks, and gave a bemused huff.

“I didn’t know your test was finished already.”

“Oh, yeah.” James felt a trickle of guilt for not informing her of his passing, but he pressed it down. He wanted to sit up, but his body, he found, felt like cooled lead. He groaned as he stretched his arms over his head. “What time is it?”

Iras glanced at her wrist, and the dull orange flicker of her omni lit up her face.

“Passed time for you to be back at the barracks. It’s eleven,” James wanted her to keep talking. Something in the way her voice lilted just a bit on her r’s, how its tone always held a kind of warmth to it despite her curt manner to speech, and how she often laughed halfway through chiding him soothed areas in his chest he didn’t know ached.

James faked a gasp of shock.

“I never would’ve guessed.”

“Need help standing? You look a little worse for wear,” Iras asked. He noted she had yet to take a step towards him, as if the grass were his personal space, an area she shouldn’t intrude on. James shook his head, and smiled up at her. A comfortable silence slipped between the two, and he held out a hand for her.

Iras looked uncertain, frowned, before coming towards him. Her steps were quiet in the chirping night, but the sound of crunching grass was music to his ears. Maybe it was the euphoria from his increased rank, from acing his test, and from the knowledge that not only did he pass but that Tanaka did as well, but he wanted his space invaded by the adept. He wanted intimacy. He didn’t lower his hand when she came to stand next to him, and when she looked down at his hand she let out a small scoff.

“I can sit on my own.”

Even with her rebuttal, her fingers slid into his grasp. He wrapped his hand around them, and relished in the bloom of heat it sent into his palm and wrist. He pulled her down to his level, until she sat side-by-side, and her thigh rested against his arm. James knew he should probably let go of her hand, they were in public after all, and though the base was dark the cameras still pointed everywhere, but he didn’t care. He just laid there, enjoying her company, and basking in the glow of victory hard-won.

Iras, in that moment, wanted to tell James everything. She opened her mouth a few times in the silence, the dark of the night spurring her on to convey things that were better left unsaid, but she faltered. The same instant that the urge came to tell him, it was fleeting away, spirited into the night by forces unseen, and though James felt a serenity acquired by success, she floundered against the oncoming storm.


	17. Just a little while longer...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot plot plot. Actual plot. 
> 
> For the first time in six months, Joker's spirits are raised. He has found something that might lead to bringing back not only EDI, but the Geth as well. As Joker slaves away under the guise of bringing his robot wife back to life, Iras waits impatiently for her mission timeline, and begins to wonder, for the first time, will James wait? Does she want James to wait for her while she's gone? Could she possibly ask that of him, when she might be gone anywhere from a month to a full year? James and Iras' relationship begins the steady change towards something they're not sure about, while Hackett's hands are forced into dealing with Aria T'Loak over a very dreadful matter.

**Chapter Seventeen:**

**Just a little while longer…**

She tasted best when he worked her up into a frenzy. James learned the ins and outs of Iras by now, learned how to drive her wild, how to make her all but beg for him, to make her lose her cool exterior and be reduced to a puddled mess under him. He found his favorite way to whip her into a froth without even touching her involved being around just about every other recruit in the mess hall or common areas. He’d sit across from her and have an in-depth conversation with someone innocuous, not Tanaka since he caught on to his game to fast, and James would shot her a look that she caught instantly. Sometimes it was just the look, the piercing stare, him shoving all the things he wanted to do to her into how his eyes would hood just a bit, and a slow, lazy smirk would pull across his features. Other times, he’d lick his lower lip, or find an excuse to lick his thumb or palm, and she’d watch him like a hawk. Finally, the coup de grace was James sitting back just right, so that he showed off his large physique, and quirk an eyebrow at her to where it left little doubt what was on his mind.

Sometimes, she played back. Once, when he’d been practically putting on a show, and the reason why Tanaka was no longer his conversation partner of choice, she had snorted and he found himself with his lap filled with the very flexible woman’s foot. She trained more often in the biotic division, and so went without shoes when in the main buildings as much as possible—something about strengthening her weak ankles. He could still feel the heat of her foot as she gave him a very effective foot job, all the while grinning like a cat that had just eaten the family hen. She didn’t fight back, though, whenever Athentia or Caleb accompanied her to dinner, so James saved his hard ball tactics for when they were present.

Today, however, he pulled no punches. Still brimming with cockiness over his promotion, he cornered her in their old training room-though now he was trained with the rest of the Soldiers in another area of the facility after having qualified to test out of further biotic resistant training-and didn’t touch her. He murmured things to her in Spanish, things she could halfway grasp, things that were lewd and graphic and made her cheeks and neck burn bright red. She chastised him, but he saw the way she would sink against the wall and press her thighs together, her eyes darting to his lips whenever he pulled away from assaulting her ears to stare down at her. Then, just when she reached out and fisted his fatigues, he pressed forward and hiked her up the wall with a thigh. She gasped, loudly, and had anyone been outside he would have worried they would be heard, especially after the yelp when one his hands dove to fondle between her legs over her pants.

“Fuck…”

“That’s the plan.”

He had to use the way her eyes glassed over as fuel to keep himself from pouncing on her in the elevator on the way to her chambers. Even with his new quarters, he still roomed with Tanaka—though now they had quartered off sleeping areas and a small living room, James still didn’t want to see the man’s triumphant look of knowing if he dragged Iras in when he was there.

All the teasing was always worth it, even though it tortured James almost as much as it did her. She currently gripped his hair in one hand, the other stretched behind her, and her body shuddering and jolting whenever he passed over her with a languid, mocking lap of his tongue. She had a certain taste, even to her sweat and her mouth, whenever he made her want him this bad that he couldn’t get enough of.

“Vega…” she whined. He chuckled when her hips slid against his face, but he kept one of her thighs firmly locked with one his arms. The other she had splayed out, her toes curled. He liked the way she scraped her nails against his scalp when he didn’t move faster.

She let go of his hair and instead threw her arm over her eyes, her shoulders coming to nearly touch her ears.

“Maker, harder, James… You’ve… you’ve been down there for…”

“Ten minutes,” he glanced at the clock beside him.

Iras whimpered her correction, which it’d been actually eleven, she couldn’t help counting since he kept bringing her almost to orgasm and then would retreat to doing what he was doing now. He nuzzled against her damp curls, breathed in her scent for what felt like the hundredth time in those ten minutes, and then skirted his free hands fingers up her slit again. Her hips jumped at the contact, and she tried to shove herself down on his hand when he thrust his middle finger into her depths but he kept her still with a firm, authoritative grip.

“No cheating,” he reminded her.

Her hands were back on his head when he crooked his finger and began to rub against the ridge within her. His tongue lathed over her clit again before he suctioned down onto her, pulling the swollen, worked nerve out and began suck and lick at it all over again. Iras’ breathing almost stopped, but James flattened his tongue and dragged particularly hard, hard enough to wrench a low, shattered groan from the woman under him.

“I can’t…”

James decided to have pity on Iras—that and his own mounting need throbbed between him and the bed. He released her thigh and used his now free hand to leverage himself so that his now three fingers in her could all hit that same spot over and over at a blistering pace. He found himself thankful that Iras preferred pressure to speed when it came to clitoral stimulation, and instead of having to be some insane flesh version of a vibrator, he just continued his firm and determined sucking and licking.

Her opening began to flutter, and the second he heard Iras stop making those small, high pitched noises and go silent he knew he had her. He sat on one elbow, a trail of her juices following his lips, as his fingers were clamped down on. He watched her ride her orgasm. The way her abs scrunched up, how her hips arched, even to the way her mouth parted in a quiet cry of completion, made James almost orgasm himself. The afternoon sun poured through the window next to them and caused the fine layer of sweat over her body to accentuate her small shaking and shivering.

“You’re so beautiful,” James hissed under his breath. He leaned down and bit at her thigh, concluding that she needed another hickey next to the one he’d made just before torturing the biotic.

Iras rolled her head to the side, her eyes distant and her chest heaving. She made a small, breathy sound, as if to answer him, but he’d rendered her boneless. James popped off the violent love mark, nursing it with several loving licks, before sitting up.

He pulled her by her hips to where his needful erection sat along her slit, engulfed in her sticky heat without entering her. One of her hands lifted from the bed and grabbed onto his forearm.

“Wait… lemme… just lemme…”

To see all Iras’ muscled body rendered useless, encapsulated by pleasure, made James feel pride on the level of his new rank. He sat on his ankles and waited, though occasionally rocked himself up and down her to keep his mind from going completely blank. When she final let go of his arm and gripped the sheets under her, James used one hand to guide himself in. With a thankful sigh, he sheathed himself within her, and shuddered at the heat and tightness that enraptured him.

She moaned, and tilted her head back, a silent queue that James took her up on. His mouth descended on her throat, his teeth scraping just enough, and his hands now keeping her in place as he snapped his hips forward hard enough to bunch the sheets under the small of her back. Her breathy repetition of his name established the rhythm for him, and James lost himself over to his own waves of sensation.

 

* * *

 

 

How many years had it been since he had reckless mid-afternoon sex? He couldn’t remember, the last concrete one that occurred to him was just before he enlisted and that had been when both he and the girl were drunk as fuck. He was kind of a dick to her. He knew her from his tito’s neighborhood, and knew that she liked him. The way she looked at him, all doe-eyed with those brown eyes, and that perfectly wavy brown hair, did it for him. He didn’t know who she was, or even her name, just that he needed something, someone, before he shipped himself off to the base camp that would determine the rest of his life. Looking back on it, he pitied the girl he fucked to within an inch of her life. He didn’t stop to give her pleasure, he only cared about what he could take, and James for the past number of however many years tried to chalk it up to him being a kid at the time, but he now knew better. He just wanted to not think about what was about to happen: how, in a couple hours after, when he sobered up, he went right to his dad and told him he enlisted and that he wouldn’t be drug running for him any longer.

That day hadn’t made him feel anything like what just happened.

No, he cared now. James draped his arms over his knees and stared down at the prone body of Iras as she slept on her stomach. He cared if Iras thought he was going too fast, or if she wasn’t feeling enough pleasure, or too much of it-if such a thing existed. No, now he knew better than to be selfish with a woman like Iras. He didn’t know when it happened, or just when the change transpired, but whenever he desired the adept he wanted to leave her exhausted, unable to even move. Maybe it was because… James saw how tired she looked recently.

He drifted a hand over the small of her back, tracing three lateral scars that were just above the swell of her ass. Turian, from the looks of it, and they ran deep. Another story he wanted to know about laid stretched out before him, but he found that was Iras in a nutshell, a story he wanted to hear until the end.

 _Shit_ , he thought, even as his thumb traced over the curvature of her spine. His palm brushed against the dark swirl of her Delta Squad tattoo, a sharp, Alliance blue SD clashing amidst waves and fire and smoking heat clips. Watching her shoulders and back rise and fall with peaceful, deep sleep made warmth spread through James’ body, and that same ache in his chest was soothed with simply touching Iras.

He couldn’t help but feel, lately, that she was coming closer to him, letting him invade every aspect of her space. He left clothes in her room, hidden in her drawers or in the top of the bathroom linen closet, out of sight of any nosy asari that happened to stop by. He brought a tooth brush, if only because he couldn’t stand another day of heading to class from her room without getting rid of morning breath _and_ coffee mouth. Every article of his own she allowed him, flippantly though with raised brows, spurred on the abyssal want that opened in James. He became greedy, and even with their sex he sought to have her give herself over to him completely.

But, though she allowed him to invade her space, make it somewhat his own, she seemed to withdraw at the same time. Even just the night before, while they watched a vid on her sofa, she hadn’t done her usual act of burying her feet under his leg, and instead sat without touching him for the near duration of the film. He had to grab her and drag her over to him, complaining that it felt like she wasn’t actually there. She gave him a wounded look, then guilt flashed over her face before she resumed her normal position, her feet under his thigh and her head resting against his forearm on the back of the couch.

Incidences like that were increasing. Sometimes, she had this far off look on her face, even when they were in the middle of sex. Others, she would outright just shut down. He had no right to grow as concerned as he was, he knew that, what with their rules on this relationship, but he couldn’t help but want to do something about it.

He recognized the symptoms of falling in too deep with Bennet. He saw the boundaries of their relationship rushing up on him, but James didn’t think he could stop it. Instead, it felt like the more she pulled away from him the more he wanted to go after her.

 _Yep. I’m in deep shit_ , James thought with a grimace. Though, it would be a while yet before James realized just how deeply he’d jumped in.

 

* * *

 

 

Joker was so close, he could taste it. Over the last week, he managed to hunt down a single file deep within EDI’s database. It was corrupted, its encryption having been shot to high heaven, and the programming language was all garbled… But, when he switched the program on through a small section of the Normandy, instead of the low whine and static that had been present for nearly the last year in his search, there were whispers of the old EDI, little random distorted vocal projections, memories of a sort, that came through before loud hissing, grinding, and the blue screen of death occurred.

He’d drunk himself into a stupor after finding the shred that he had to work with, and realized just how much he had to work to get it viable. If it ever could be. The code was so… destroyed. He had copies of the original Luna base VI coding, but it didn’t match up to what Joker knew to be EDI’s during the final few months as the Normandy. He would have attempted to get a reference point from the destroyed Cerberus base if it weren’t, you know, destroyed. For not the first time, nor the last, Joker found himself ruing Shepard’s penchant for blowing shit up.

But, he had a shred to work on, and that was better than nothing. He hunkered down over his work station, blissful in the knowledge that they were dry docked at the Citadel until word reached Hackett about some random mission they were being prepped for. Even the helper Joker hired seemed enthusiastic, and hey, if a perfect stranger thought there was merit it had to be something, right?

Or it could be blind pity. Joker wanted to go with the idea that he might actually be able to bring his dead robotic wife back to life, though.

“Mr. Monroe, Sir!”

Joker looked up from his station. Food bar wrappers littered his keyboards, and the screens that surrounded him were a constant flurry of numbers, words, and code. He looked like shit, he knew it, the kid knew it, and Chakwas definitely knew it, but hey, that’s what caffeine is for. He leaned back as far in his little chair as he could before his back began to protest.

“I told you to just call me Joker.”

“It seems disrespectful, Sir.”

“It isn’t when I tell you to,” Joker feigned a grin, though he knew it was thin and forced. The kid he hired was some recent graduate from the Alliance’s top technology school. He came highly recommended from some Rear Admiral that Joker hadn’t heard of before, and had the smarts to back up his fancy diploma. With mousy, thin brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a thinner body than even Joker’s he looked the world like an absolute nerd. Joker liked nerds. They were his people.

“I’ll… try… sir.”

“And stop calling me, Sir.”

“But-”

“My dad was a, Sir, not me. Don’t make me feel like my Dad.”

The kid went quiet, and Joker batted around the idea that he probably felt bad for making Joker think of the death of his father. Sure, the wound still smarted. He could still recall getting the news of the Reapers invading Tiptree. He could still taste the copper from abject fear as he scoured over the list of survivors, and how his stomach hadn’t been in his throat like most people describe, but somewhere on some long lost planet a billion light years away. He felt hollowed out when he noted that his father’s name hadn’t been on that list, but a small ray of hope filled his body when he spotted that teenagers and children had been put on rescue vessels that hadn’t been counted just yet.

Luckily for Sandoval, aka the kid, Joker’s sister was still alive and kicking. She chewed him out for not getting into contact with her sooner, but she wasn’t any worse for wear. Currently, she volunteered on the Citadel to help get things back into proper working order. Joker didn’t envy her future employer. She trumped him in nearly every aspect, including smarts, and at this point was only a modest sixteen.

Sandoval shifted a little in front of Joker, wringing his hands in front of him.

“Well?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry… uh… J-Joker?” Joker nodded, holding back a snicker at how timid the kid was-really, you wouldn’t guess he was already twenty-one by looking at him-before crossing his arms. Sandoval pulled up his omni and waved it over one of Joker’s screens. The image flickered before pulling up the section of code that the kid had been working on for the last three days.

“The section you gave me to work on, there’s an irregularity in it that isn’t present in the Luna base programming.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. Cerberus practically gutted the VI in order to make EDI.”

“Well, you see, there’s this one area that I thought looks familiar. It doesn’t match to the VI, but it does match to a loop program found in remnants of the Geth. And, considering that EDI and the Geth don’t share much in common other than being synthetic life forms…”

Joker refused to let the bright ray of hope that burned inside of him at that moment consume him. Over the last year, he had experienced too many “near finds” to justify putting all his joy and happiness into this potential lead. Joker, instead, schooled his face into an interested, if not impartial, nod.

“Meaning, this might be part of the base code that VI’s undergo when developing into AI’s…” Joker trailed, rubbing his chin with his palm. Was this how Shepard felt whenever they had the smallest little information on Seran or the Conduit during their time chasing Sovereign? Every little lead felt like it was connected to the larger whole, but more often than not it was some random one off coincidence.

“It’s possible. I wish we had more samples to compare it to. Like…” Sandoval’s voice dropped. Joker looked up from the code on his screen, furrowing his brows when he saw how the kid was standing. He looked sheepish, with his hands wringing so hard Joker was surprised he hadn’t started a fire. Joker found that the kid hated confrontation, which was odd considering his employer.

“Like…?” Joker asked.

“Like the Reaper code fragment Commander, _Major_ , Shepard picked up a while back.”

Joker felt his mouth go dry. His tongue swelled a bit, and he tried to focus his attention on the kid and not the memory of the specific run that had them in Geth space, and Shepard in the Geth Consensus, that bought them that code fragment. He shook his head, waved his hand in front of his face, and scowled.

“No, that thing is too dangerous.”

“EDI used it Reaper code to disguise the Normandy during the War. Clearly, there’s safe ways to utilize it.”

“Yeah, and the AI that knew when to stop it from infection the mainframe of the ship is currently fried and in the AI core,” Joker snapped. Sandoval recoiled, his eyes widening. Joker mentally admonished himself for taking it out on the kid. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t trust anything to the Reapers as far as he could throw it, which considering the state of his fucking bones was about as far as a millimeter.

“It’s too dangerous,” Joker said after a few moments of awkwardness. He sighed, and scrubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. This was why Joker never wanted to be promoted. He hated bossing people around. Bossing people around was Shepard’s job, and she was damn good at it. It felt like Joker was just playing a role, faking it until he made it, but he was confident he’d never make it.

“I’m… I’m sorry, sir.”

Before Joker could admonish him for reverting to the term of respect, the kid had turned on his heel and high-tailed it from the engineering hold. He grumbled under his breath about not being a good leader before turning back to his work, though his concentration now shattered. The nagging idea of using Reaper technology on anything made his skin crawl, but he now understood the temptation that faced and felled Cerberus and the Illusive Man.

Joker’s mind swam with ‘what if’s’, not the least of which being what if they used the code fragment to compare to the AI samples they had left, and used it to rebuild not only EDI, but also their synthetic buddies the Geth?

 

* * *

 

 

Jump Zero used to be the edge of human space. When first built, it housed all the cutting edge technology the best of mankind could produce, and was home to some of the sharpest brains the species possessed. By the time Iras Bennet was stationed there, two and a half years after the attack on the citadel by that freaky black cuttlefish space ship it had seen far better days. Though not in utter disrepair, new frigates, colonies, stations all deserved more attention than the embarrassing reminder that not even humanities best had been a match for what they found in the Mars Archives. What had once housed the best biotic students getting trained in what was the only biotic training program around-albeit a very inhumane one from her understanding-now served as a jumping off spot to areas deeper in the galaxy.

For Iras, Jump Zero served as her return to full and active duty after her time in solitary. Always too kind to his protégé, Hackett assigned her into the squad two weeks before her release, and to her surprise she was welcomed with open arms.

Spec Ops Delta had been assigned to the station to root out suspected corruption in the rank and file. Rumors swarmed that there were Cerberus defectors aboard, and though Iras found no one willing to admit they suspected someone, she smelled a rat. She rounded a corner in the station, talking candidly with a subordinate, a newbie in the squad that came from Eden Prime before Sovereign’s attack, when everything went to shit.

The lights shut down with a heavy woosh, and soon the backup emergency generators were running full force. Red light strobed in the hallways, and soon alarms began to sound all over the station. Iras barked over her communicator, demanding information from those on her team stationed in the eezo core, when something shrieked right into her ear. She shouted, covered her ear, and tried to make sense of the noise just as shouting and screaming began to erupt around her.

“Lieutenant Bennet! Excuse the language ma’am, but what the ever loving royal _fuck_ is that?”

Iras whipped her head around, and what she saw out the portside window made her blood freeze. There, coasting through the darkness of space, came the massive black body of something all too familiar. Its multifold arms opened, and the same screech, or was it more of a blaring, came piercing through the intercoms. She stood there for what felt like hours, but were only scarce and valued minutes, before she shouted something even she didn’t understand. She surged forwards, pushing the recruit in front of her, and began to shout orders into her headset.

They needed to get off base, _now_!

“I repeat, Spec Ops Delta, all members report to the docking bay. Emergency evacuation is in progress, I repeat, emergency evacuation is in progress! Get your asses out of here!”

“You heard the lady!” Iras’ orders were backed up by their captain, and all at once a flood of affirming shouts she was supposed to be able to hear, but couldn’t, rushed over the communicators.

The Reapers, they would learn, had returned from Dark Space.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras scrambled awake, clawing at something hard and solid in front of her. She gasped down air, drinking in like her first water after traversing a desert. The sirens of the Reapers still deafened her ears, and from the cragginess of her throat she knew she’d been screaming. Her eyes darted around, at first disorientated with the soft surroundings. Where were the hard lines and sharp edges of Jump Zero? Where was her squad? She let out a shaky sound, one she didn’t recognize, one she would deny later, when at last her nails scraped down the surface in her grip again.

Realization dawned on her, and Iras snapped her stare up to the grimacing face of James. When she released his arm, the one she’d been clinging to for dear life, the one that had blood welling to the surface from her harried scratching, he wrapped her in a firm, unyielding hug.

“It’s okay…”

“James?” she rasped.

“Yeah, I got you. Deep breaths,” his voice dripped into her harried brain, slowed it down, poured sweet honey into the feverish depths of her mind like a cooling salve. She shuddered, feeling as cold as if she had swam through the Seine in January. She shook despite herself, and no matter how much she whispered that it was a dream, that the Reapers were dead, she knew it was a lie. That scene happened. That day, one of the fleeing vessels that contained four of their best operatives got shot down before they could jump to the Mass Relay. They jumbled their communicators, made it impossible to contact Earth, and when they got through to Hackett they were ordered to the Citadel for further instructions.

Iras curled into James’ embrace, her teeth chattering.

“Merde…”

James didn’t speak. Instead, he just laid there, his body curled around hers, making her feel small but safe at the same time. Gradually, her heart calmed down, and her body ceased to shake. When finally she could close her eyes and not see the ship blowing up, or hear her squad mates screaming as the beam struck the hull, she rested her forehead against his collarbone. She blinked when she noted he wore one of the shirts he hauled into her room the other day, muttering something about wanting to not look like a hobo and get chewed out for rumpled clothing next inspection.

Iras frowned.

“I covered your shirt in sweat.”

“That’s what washing machines are for.”

“Hm…”

“You calmed down?” James loosened his grip. She noted as he drew one arm under his head, and he locked stares with her, just how tight he’d been gripping onto her. She ran a hand through her soaked hair.

“Yeah.”

“Good. You started thrashing around, and then screaming. I tried to wake you,” James wrinkled his nose, as if disgusted by his inability to help. From the indentation between his now smoothed brows, she figured he’d been trying to wake her for at least five minute. Iras chuckled, gripped onto his shirt, and hummed under her breath.

When he first came with his shirts, all five of them, she’d been verging on incredulous. Already she could feel their… whatever… shifting in a way that was against their ground rules. He invaded her space, made her quarters practically his, and brought things over that were now permanent staples in her bathroom, his toothbrush being one of them. Then again, he really did have some rank morning breath, he could put a Krogan to shame. But, she permitted his intrusion into her space anyway. Something about the marine made it hard for her to stay mad at him, even though often he was simply infuriating. If she had to listen to him go on and on about the benefits of heavy weight lifting, and how it might help her with her problem of maintaining fields, she would toss him from the window.

She inspected the damage she did, nail marks marring the otherwise smooth skin of James’ forearm.

“Do you need me to patch that up?” she asked, feeling a pang of culpability.

“Nah. I’ve gotten worse sparring with Scars. Even though he keeps his talons clipped, they’re still damn sharp. This is nothing.” James lopsided smile down at her made the heaviness of feeling responsible for injuring him ebb away. She allowed herself a few moments to just lay there, next to him, and bask in the furnace that was James Vega. Honestly, how did he manage to put out so much body heat? If she ever went to Noveria on a mission run, she was dragging him with her. He’d be her portable heat source.

When she decided that they’d laid there, just laid there without touching one another or asking anything of each other, she sat up and stretched her arms above her head. She noticed that, though James had dressed himself, he had neglected to so much as pull the sheets over her. She eyed him.

“What?”

“How long’ve you been awake?”

James glanced to the clock and made a face, one that told of his reluctance to say. That was all she needed. Iras snorted, and tried to hold down the sappy smile bubbling under her features. He made a low noise to cover his faltering and shrugged.

“Maybe, what, thirty minutes?”

“Right. And you totally haven’t been staring at me naked the whole time.”

“Well, I mean, before you acted like you were trying to kill me and the mattress, sure, why not? It’s not like I haven’t seen it before. Up close,” James’ voice dropped even as he sat up himself. His thumb brushed her spine, his lips coming to hover over her already peppered neck. “And intimate.”

“Off,” she complained, even while laughing. She pushed James away, playfully, before standing with a groan.

Iras began to go through the list of things she had to accomplish in the day when her computer screen flashing at her caught her attention. She scooped a shit from the ground, after all she had just managed to change into her bed clothes when James’ alert came through her omni so it wasn’t, technically, dirty. She pulled it on and padded her way over. With a flick, she pulled up her personal email, and heard the mattress groan when James rolled off. She didn’t understand why he insisted on getting off her bed that way. According to Tanaka-who, she would like to know how, now knew about herself and James-he didn’t do it in their dorm. She imagined it was a similar thing to a dog rolling in a smell they particularly like, but that seemed demeaning to James. A few months ago she would have gladly accepted the simile of comparing James to a dog, or an overactive puppy, but now she thought it was an insult to reduce him to such a small box.

“Hey, uh, I noticed something lately.”

“You’re in the ICT, War Hero, it’s your job to notice things,” Iras drawled. She waited to secure her connection as she took her seat at the desk. James wandered around the quarters behind her, maybe picking up, maybe making a larger mess she didn’t know nor care. She heard the thunk of dirty laundry, what was left of it from yesterday and, knowing James, her sheets hitting the dirty clothes hamper.

“Haha, very funny.”

“I think I’m hysterical.”

She could almost hear the hamster in James’ brain as he tried to come up with a witty retort. But, she had the advantage. She noticed that on mornings after they had been particularly… active… the night before he had a hard time being his usual snappy self. Instead, he just kind of listed along, and lounged the rest of the day in the afterglow. Before long he let out a frustrated noise, and a firm hand pressed itself to the back of her neck. Had it been anyone other than James, she would have sent him flying back with a biotic blast strong enough to fry his nose hairs. As it was, she merely sighed and pushed into him when his fingers began to rub at the implant scar. Why no one told kids going under the knife that, oh yeah hey, this spot right here is where you’re going to be carrying tension the rest of your life, sucks to be you, bemused Iras to no end.

“You’re not on rotation anymore,” James said. He let go of her neck just as soon as he had grabbed it, and made his way into the kitchen. Though it was an ungodly five in the morning, the sun still fast asleep and the jungle still in the throng of crickets, she was thankful when James switched on the coffee maker.

Iras mulled over her response. He wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t on rotation anymore. She’d been pulled off on Hackett’s orders, and was merely waiting for her full personality profile to come in to work on her character. She needed this next month to get into the head of who she’d be while with the Suns. Hackett didn’t want any distractions for her, so he took her classes away and made sure she had all the resources she needed. Yeah, one of her biggest distractions was standing in her kitchen, his fauxhawk a mess and pointing every which way, and his shirt hugging onto his broad back and… _fuck, he has a great ass. Just look at that thing_. Focus! Right. Answer.

“Good eye,” she stalled. Iras tore her eyes away from James’ ass, her cheeks red hot. She hadn’t realized how much she liked butts until she met Vega, and now she couldn’t help but stare at his.

“What gives?”

“About what?” the computer beeped at her as the connection was verified and decrypted. She inputted her password and pulled up her Alliance email.

“Why aren’t you?”

“On rotation?”

“Yes,” James had that edge to his voice that warned her he was getting annoyed of her glibness. Iras ignored the tone as she scrolled through her email, anxious to find her orders. She needed an exact timetable. Whoever was working on that for Hackett needed to be demoted.

Iras shot him a look over her shoulder. He stood, leaned against her modest island, with his shoulders bunched up. Though he looked annoyed at her evasiveness, she saw the hint of the same worry as when he had been holding her to calm her down. She opened her mouth once, to tell him a quick, easy lie, then snapped her mouth closed so fast it made a small click. Iras tried, over and over, in her brain to conjure up something to tell him, to just flippantly make the topic go away, but the way his brows were furrowed just so made her scowl at herself. She couldn’t do it.

Why, oh why, couldn’t she do it? Lying was the easy part of her job. It didn’t involve aiming with a scope, or keeping barriers up, charging her amps, or pushing the same thing that moved the whole universe through her skin to kill things around her. Lying was simple, clean, fast, and shouldn’t feel like she was being asked to kick a puppy. She wrinkled her nose in a small snarl, turned back to her computer, and said quietly:

“I’m sorry, James… I can’t tell you why.” Admitting that she couldn’t lie to James came as a blow. She sat there, staring at her screen, not comprehending what she was reading but going over the same line over and over anyway.

James mumbled something under his breath before he returned to the coffee machine.

She concluded that the email about her cousin and her turian lover could wait, no matter how interested she was in how on earth they had sex. She, instead, refreshed her inbox in a vain attempt to push her orders through. Color her shocked when, indeed, upon the site loading a new email directly from Hackett appeared at the top of her inbox. Iras sucked in a sharp breath, and hovered her cursor over the file.

James deposited her coffee next to her at the desk, the sound of the metal bottom striking the metal of her desk breaking her from her mild trance. She couldn’t open it with James in the room. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him to not look over her shoulder, it was more the knowledge that Hackett would skin her alive if she brought another set of eyes into the mix. So, she blindly navigated back to her cousin’s email as James plopped down on her couch.

“Got one of those, huh? Thanks for being honest with me.”

Iras detected no sarcasm or spite in James’ tone. Instead, there was just pure understanding. Of course there was. Being a marine, James understood the ins and outs of being a soldier, much less an officer of their rank. They had missions they couldn’t talk about. She was sure that in her time knowing James, both now and in the future, there would be missions he would have to glass over in order to keep his classified status. The safety of the Alliance depended on their discretion, even if it meant lying through omission to each other. This, to James, consisted of business as usual. It would continue to be business as usual until he either found a woman outside of the Navy or until he retired. She wondered how often Shepard told him that, or Anderson, or just about anyone else while he had been stationed on the Normandy. She knew one thing for sure, however, and that was the fact that she appreciated not having to walk on eggshells about her mission’s red stamp status.

One problem still remained, nagging at the back of her mind. What did she want to do about her situation with James while she was gone? Would whatever they had disintegrate? She had no right to ask him to wait for however long this would take-a month, four months, and a year were all probable stretches of time for her to be absent. Would he want to wait? Did she want him to?

Iras tented her fingers and glared at her screen, deciding that trying to work out the intricacies of a swiftly changing relationship were too much to handle on no coffee.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dispatch for you, Admiral Hackett, sir.”

Hackett switched off his screen and looked up at his assistant. She was young, younger than he liked, and enlisted during the War. A large burn ran up the length of her neck to tug at the edge of her right eye—Rachni acid, her reports said. He motioned her into his office, the one area on his ship he was allowed complete and utter privacy. With all the crap happening with the Suns, and with rebuilding a galaxy with humans as one of the main dominant players for the first time in recorded history, the leader of the Alliance Military was left far too busy for his liking. He couldn’t remember the last time he got more than three hours of sleep.

He was getting too old to run off coffee and meal bars. That kind of living was best left to the young and reckless.

The girl set down the report, saluted, and shuffled her way out. The door shut behind her, and it took only two seconds of glancing over the cover of the report for him to signal the door to be locked. When the glyph glowed a blood red, he secured the connection and began the tedious task of reading field reports.

He planted someone deep within the Suns intelligence mainframe a long time ago, before the War and before the attack on the citadel. That person was now proving invaluable, and though of a small, innocuous rank in order to keep him hidden, he managed to funnel what little plans he could get his hands on to the admiral. Currently, he was trying his hardest to dig up anything and everything about what base could be holding the Reaper corpse.

No luck, according to his report. However, there was a concern he had unearthed. Rumors floated around the bottom ranks of the Suns that Cerberus had been in talks with the big wigs up top, or what survived of Cerberus. Alarm bells rang in Hackett’s head, and his neck went so tight he could feel the migraine blooming behind his eyes before his vision began to tunnel. It would seem that the Suns were unable to get what they wanted from the corpse, and so turned to the surviving members of Cerberus and their advanced technological know-how in order to unlock access to the Reapers weapons systems. The only problem being that now there were rumors that the branch of the Suns that Cerberus was now in cohorts with, had broken off, and all communication had been lost with that branch.

With the inclusion of Cerberus in the mix, the report ended with a promises to continue to look into the situation as well as he could. Hackett let out a long, slow breath, digesting what he just read. Cerberus and a radical, offshoot of the Suns? Cerberus in possession of a Reaper corpse? Images of indoctrinated shock troops, like those that attacked the Citadel during the War, flashed before Hackett’s eyes. Their faces pale and an ugly, unnatural grey, their eyes that same weird blue glow as Husks, and worst of all were those tendrils of machinery leaking from nearly every orifice. Were the remaining members of Cerberus hoping to continue the Illusive Man’s legacy of insanity? Did indoctrination still go on even after the Reapers were long dead? And why were the Suns accepting the help of a terrorist organization that almost wiped them off the face of the galaxy along with everyone else?

He couldn’t make sense of this on his own. He had to bring in the big guns, and that didn’t involve just Iras and his top spy personnel. As much as it pained him, Hackett knew the situation called for a darker hand, one that gripped the underbelly of the galaxy by the balls and squeezed until it yielded.

Hackett leaned forward and pressed his intercom button, a scowl on his face.

“Yes, Admiral Hackett, sir?”

“Get me Aria on the comm. I have urgent matters that we need to discuss.”

“Right away, sir.”

The line went dead, and in the silence Hackett prepared what he would tell Aria, and what he’d leave out. The Reaper corpse loomed as a concern to all in the galaxy, but should he just work her ire at being betrayed by saying a faction of the Blue Suns had defected and were now running with Cerberus? Which option would give him the best result?

In moments like this, Hackett sorely wished Shepard was in fighting condition again.


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Carrying Capacity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loooong update is long. Sorry I haven't updated this in, geez, a very long time. I've been super busy with school. I'm in my senior year and I'm just trying to graduate at this point, haha. Anyway! 
> 
> Iras and James' relationship is coming to a head. We spend some time with Garrus and Shepard as Shepard comes to a point where she can be discharged soon. Finally, James has something he needs to tell Iras, something he's been putting off for some time now.

**Chapter Eighteen:**

**Carrying capacity**

It felt good to get back to training. She needed to maintain her body. Her entire being existed as a fine tuned Alliance killing machine, so the idea of idling away her time within her quarters did not sit well. With being taken off rotation for instructing, she focused on her barriers, her fields, and on making herself in tiptop shape. She requested, and received, help from some of her superiors, namely an N7 Commander by the name of Sheila. She requested, and received, help with her rusted tech skills from the engineers in her level. But, most importantly, she worked her body and mind until both were tired to move or function.

Currently, Iras was endeavoring to do the former with her trainer. Though unable to tell her what the mission details entailed, the N7 recognized the look of someone about to go off into the deep end, and offered her a much required lifeline.

She landed with a grunt, almost falling to her knees from the height she had fallen. She span just in time to block an oncoming biotic potshot, sending it flying away with the back a barrier covered hand. Her trainer came at her, all speed and determination. There was no sympathy, no mercy, not when the two trained at this intensity. Iras had enough time to move out of the way of a swift jab aimed at her gut, but couldn’t dodge the knee that came barreling into her side. She gasped, the wind escaping from her chest, before she was sent skidding across the training room floor with a pulse.

Iras dragged herself to her hands and knees, her muscles already starting to burn from prolonged practice. She entered the biotic training room an hour ago, and the Sheila hadn’t given her a moments rest in all that time. She gasped, gulping down air, even as her instructor came sauntering towards her.

“Your stamina’s gotten better,” Sheila commented. “But, it still needs work.”

Iras snarled as she stood. She shook out her arms, rolled her head side to side, and bounced on the tips of her toes. She slid into a ready position, and nodded to the N7 to come at her. She learned the hard way that Sheila’s martial art style made full on frontal attacks near impossible right out of the gate. She had to be defensive, had to move out of the way until windows opened. So, when the superior Charged at her, Iras flipped back, almost managing to catch the other woman’s jaw with a feinted kick.

She landed, and ducked an arched kick meant to connect with her jaw. Iras sent out her own pulse of bright blue, forcing Sheila to close up her stance to sustain her footing, which left her open right after to a quick, underpowered throw. It sent her stumbling a few feet, enough for her to lower her guard, and give Iras the opportunity to snap out with a quick kick of her own.

Sheila caught her foot, however, and spun the adept in the air like a top. Iras would have hit the ground with her chin if her hands hadn’t flown under her, and she tucked her free leg close to her stomach and rolled with all the force the position afforded her. Sheila hit the mat with a loud cough.

“What implant do you have?” Iras asked. They both came to a standing around the same time, though Sheila didn’t bother to shake her body loose. Hers was one that was forged in the heat of battles Iras had yet to fight. Her eyes were a hard brown, and her Fury armor had deep scars in it from both the War and subsequent missions.

“The L2, though there’s been talk of stabilizing mine.”

Iras whistled low under her breath.

“Seriously? No wonder your Warps hit like a mule.”

“Or, you need to work on your barriers.”

“Well, that too,” Iras pulled on the bottom of her hand binding. Sometimes she wished her life could be as easy as a Soldiers. Sure, they had to know their machines inside and out, and had to keep their bodies in tiptop shape to cart around all that damn heavy armor, but at least they didn’t have to make sure their amps, implants, barriers, and all the other things that relied on her dark energy control at all times stayed in working order.

To her surprise, Sheila pulled off her gloves, a sure sign they were done for the moment. Iras quirked a brow at her, confused. “You look like your about to pass out. Get some water.”

“I feel fine.”

“That’s even more disconcerting. Go get some juice, because you do not look fine, First Lieutenant.”

Iras snorted, but turned to grab her bag anyway. She didn’t want to admit that the Commander was right, but she was. Her body felt hot and cold at the same time, and ten minutes ago she pushed it away as a sign of her amp being overheated. Now, when she crouched to dig around in the depths of her duffle, she knew better. Her legs shook like jelly, her heartrate ballooned with each passing second, and her vision closed in on the sides. She ripped open a protein bar, just in case, and bit into it as she plopped onto the padded floor.

“I think we should stop for the day.”

“What, why? I just need a break?” Iras lied. In actuality, if she kept going she was certain she’d pass out. Her body shook in a way that concerned her, made her think she was sick, but she didn’t want to stop because she could still think. Not only just about the coming mission, because that consumed every waking second of her free time, but also of the increasing chunk of her brain that a certain James Vega occupied.

Sheila rolled a shoulder, grimacing a bit from the one really good Slam Iras managed earlier in the training. The way she hit the floor, the ceiling, and then the floor again with that satisfying, glorifying crunch of metal and armor made a twisted part in Iras gleeful.

“Because, I _know_ what you’re doing. If you keep going this hard, you’re going to break.”

Iras stared at Sheila, attempting, and failing, to look innocent. When her trainers blank expression didn’t change, and when it was obvious that she wasn’t to be believed, she sighed and pressed the cold metal of her drink bottle to the side of her neck. Relishing in the rush of relief over her heated body-and reminding herself to go over the temperature schematics in her suit because now she realized it was way too warm-she didn’t argue with Sheila. Instead, she crossed her legs and scowled.

“How do you sleep?” Iras asked, after a long silence.

Sheila blinked at her, bemused. She looked as if she were going to comment on the seeming randomness of the question, then her lips pursed and her features tightened in thought.

“Do you need to see the counselors, private?”

Iras barked a laugh. She would if they could do anything. She wasn’t allowed to divulge her mission parameters, so if she went they would get nowhere. Seeing the therapist was about trust, divulging all your inner workings and machinations, and Iras simply couldn’t commit to that right now. She would end up frustrating the therapist and herself, and in the end she’d leave angrier and more pent up than before.

She took a long swig of the concoction the Alliance taught biotics to make for revitalizing themselves in long, drawn out fights that wore on their abilities. Since biotic metabolisms were naturally faster, most adepts and vanguards took to using protein powders and other supplements to their drinks in order to up their energy. Today’s flavor consisted of the odd mix of vanilla protein mix with various citrus fruit juice and a few mangos thrown in for good measure. At least while stationed at the academy she’d never come down with scurvy.

“Can’t.”

“You need to see them even if you can’t tell them what the big hush-hush mission you’re going on is about. You look white as a sheet. How many hours did you catch last night?”

“Two? Maybe?” She would like to pawn off her lack of sleep on having James in her room, fucking the shit out of her all night, but that hadn’t been the case. James, despite his protests, hadn’t been invited up in half a week. No, her lack of sleep all fell on the shoulders of the persistent nightmares that wouldn’t let her breathe, much less rest.

“ _Maybe_?” Sheila looked as if Iras kicked puppies for sport. She gawked at her, then shook her head, a disgusted wrinkle to her nose. “No wonder you were slow today. That’s it, we really are done. Go home and get some sleep, Lieutenant, that’s a fucking order.”

Iras opened her mouth to protest, but a warning flash of bright blue coursed over Sheila’s body. Iras winced, cowed, and snarled at the door. Ordering her back to her barracks to catch some shut eye was all well and good, but it didn’t solve her problem. Scooping up her things, Iras left the training room as uncertain and on edge as when she entered, though now infinitely more ticked off. Telling her to sleep wouldn’t magically make her brain shut up. The Reapers bearing down on Jump Zero, on her squad in London, or any other random encounter with those fucking nightmare factories would continue to play behind her eyelids whenever she attempted to sleep. No, ordering her to her room would just make her feel more isolated. Would make her feel worse.

 

* * *

 

 

Something was wrong with Iras. James didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Maybe it was the pale cast her face took on whenever she thought he wasn’t looking, or the way her brows knitted even when she said she was relaxed. Even under his hands when he tried to massage her shoulders, her muscles were corded, steeled, and tense like tightrope.

She moved a little less smoothly. Instead of liquid, like water rolling down a rock during a storm, she jerked at sudden noises, her posture was stiff and harsh, and instead of water she was brick. She stopped trying to tell him she was fine, because he saw right through it, and the fact that instead of trying to placate him she just shut up, and shut him out, made alarm bells ring in his head. She had a distant look to her steel grey eyes, as if when alone she saw out into the distant universe, and wilted at what she saw. He wanted to help. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms, or at drape one over her shoulder to where she complained he was heavy and tried to slap him off, and assure her he was here for her.

If Iras needed help, of any kind, James felt he would do anything to be there for her. James had so few real friends in his life he cherished them like air. Shepard, Tali, Garrus, Wrex, Cortez, all of them were lifelines for James when he felt he couldn’t breathe. Something about going through hell and back with someone made them solid, golden, in his eyes. He never let his friends suffer in silence. But, Iras didn’t seem to want his help. If he offered, she gave him a look he couldn’t place. Her stare would sweep over him, and a weird light came to her eyes, like ice being backlit by a blue fire far off down a tunnel, not enough to illuminate but enough to create an odd, sad glow. She’d furrow her brows, give him a strained, tight smile, before turning back to whatever was on that damn datapad she kept glued to her hip.

He remembered their rules, about how they agreed that this thing with them was about consent, about trust. More than once, he rang her up in the middle of the night in order for her to keep him company. Her warm back protected his dreams from the sirens of the Reapers, from the glow of his father’s fists, and from the Normandy crash landing on that backwater planet. They didn’t always have sex, in fact most of the times they didn’t. Instead, she led him to her bed and let him decide what they would do, and whether she wanted the same. Most nights, he just crooked her against him, and listened as she drifted off to sleep. Sometimes, he joined her, sometimes he didn’t, and was contented to just tuck her as tight as he could afford without waking her against him.

The nights of intimacy had led him to one conclusion: James was close to breaking the first rule. He knew it, but he couldn’t avoid it. He didn’t know when it started, whether it was that night a week ago when she’d clung to his arm, swearing, cursing, shaking like a leaf that was being buffed around in a storm or before, or later, he couldn’t guess. It’d been gradual enough that James knew he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that seeing Iras when he turned a corner, or when she was with the other adepts for training, became the highlight of his day. Hell, maybe he already broke the first rule and didn’t know it. All James did know, though, was that he now felt a knot in his stomach every time he talked to her.

Not a good knot, either. Well, yeah, there was always that warm wash of pleasant feelings of seeing her, of seeing her smirk at him, of watching her lean against a wall, or table, or chair as he attempted to sound smooth and not like a bumbling idiot. The knot James feared most, though, was the panic that filled him whenever she remarked that he was staring.

How would Iras react if she found out? Would she severe their relationship? James didn’t see that happening, but he couldn’t rule it out either. From the start, they knew this was a danger. They laid out the no feelings, no love, that it was just a casual _thing_ they were doing to help them both relax during their time in ICT rule from the get-go. They hadn’t discussed what would happen if one of them did develop more than platonic emotions, and the looming boundaries made James squeamish.

He didn’t want their _whatever_ to end. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to touch her, taste her, take in every aspect of her and commit to memory.

“Shit!” James paced the shared living quarters of his dorm room, ignoring the way that Tanaka quirked a brow.

“What’s got you all antsy?” Tanaka asked after James had completed the circuit around the coffee table and his chair another four times.

James paused his pacing, and thumbed his lower lip. He gave Tanaka a pointed stare, debating if he could rant to his roommate and best buddy at the center. Their time in the academy had made them closer than James thought possible when he first saw the kid. Tanaka didn’t have as many flashbacks as before, of which James was sorely jealous, and he’d leaned back out after Hell. All in all, James expected Tanaka to graduate on time, or early, and become a full-fledged N7. If any of them could do it, Tanaka could. Their closeness, however, still had James uneasy talking about his relationship with the engineer. Even though James listened whenever the kid needed an ear for when Caleb had the emotional capability of a calculator, he wasn’t sure he could be so free.

Tanaka quirked a dark brow at him. He had the day off, and as such let his usually slicked back hair free. James didn’t realize it was so poofy. It went every direction, and had so much volume that James wondered if he’d stuck his finger in a light socket.

“You chew your bottom lip anymore and you’re going to split it, again.”

James released his lip from his teeth, unaware that he’d been worrying it so hard. He licked at the inside, feeling the torn up flesh and the extent of the damage he’d caused. Damn. He hadn’t felt this nervous since his first kiss with Iras back on Omega.  He felt like his skin was covered in needles being steadily poked deeper and deeper.

He threw his hands up in the air, making a frustrated growl, before planting his ass in the beat up side chair next to the couch. Tanaka sat draped at the far side of the couch, textbooks with complicated code and symbols James didn’t understand filling their pages.

“You’ve been at it all morning. You’re going to give me motion sickness if you keep pacing like that.”

“Sorry.”

Tanaka hummed under his breath and scrawled down what looked like ancient Greek to James, but was probably some complicated line of code. Not for the first time, James felt stupid. His time on the Normandy, surrounded by people smart enough to calibrate weapon matrixes with a single look, or stabilize a runaway reactor core, or the intricate details of a long dead alien civilization made James realize that no matter how hot shit he thought he was, he was nothing compared to the rest of the crew. Sure, he wasn’t stupid, but compared to the likes of Tali, Shepard, Liara, and Garrus, James knew his place.

“So, what’s up?”

“What d’ya mean?” James stopped himself from pressing his thumb into his lip. He could feel the sting of a coming split, which meant that if he kissed Iras later he had to remind her of her habit of biting.

“I haven’t seen you this wound up in months. You’re acting like a caged animal, Vega.”

James opened his mouth to contest this, but realized that Tanaka was right. He scowled, and sank further into his chair.

“You’re distracting me from my homework. Do you know how hard it is for me to get into a groove when figuring out decryption of a multilayered infracted source code with you pacing around and sighing like some virgin with a crush?”

“Considering I didn’t understand any of that, I’m going to guess difficult.”

“Exactly. So, since I’m such a good person, what’s wrong?”

“You’re not going to believe me if I say nothing, are you?”

Tanaka scoffed, and moved to throw his pen at him. “Yeah, no.”

James fished around for anything that the kid would believe. But, James knew better than to try to lie to Tanaka. He could see right through anything James told him. The joys of having bunked together for so long.

James gestured, defeated, vaguely at the air in front of him.

“It’s about Iras.”

“I kinda figured. You aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Why does everyone tell me that?” James asked, recalling Liara chiding him during the party right before the battle of London. She said he was as subtle as a bull in a china shop. At the time he took it to mean his massive size, but the higher he went in the program the more people told him he might not be suited for deep cover operations.

Tanaka gave him a once over, lips pursed.

“Your face is an open book, and you tend to be pretty loud.”

“Really? I’m that easy to read?”

Tanaka sighed, and pushed his homework from his lap. He sat up, and opened his palms on his knees, a quiet, thoughtful gesture. “For those that know how, yeah. Don’t get me wrong, Vega, you’re smart, quick, and damn good at taking a field, but you give away how you’re feeling in a given situation pretty quickly.”

James made a face, and Tanaka frowned.

“Look, it’s not the end of your career that you are. Shepard is pretty open, too. And no one can call her subtle.”

“Yeah, she tends to blow things up wherever she goes.”  

James mulled over being called _loud_ again, Iras had called him that within a few weeks of meeting him, as he tried to figure out just what to tell Tanaka. Should he divulge that he was pretty sure that Iras was about to go on some giant mission that he wasn’t allowed to know about? That he worried that, if she left, when she came back she wouldn’t want to continue what they were doing? Or, worse, that she’d end it before she left so she’d have no emotional baggage to carry over?

James winced when pain erupted across his bottom lip. He swore when he felt the slip, and laved at it with his tongue in a pit to heal it, but only made it sting worse.

Tanaka looked like he was growing impatient, so James let out a long, wary sigh.

“She doesn’t seem like she’s doing too hot lately. She always has this super stressed out look on her face, and her brows are always tight like she’s pissed off. She says she’s fine, but I know she isn’t,” James offered.

“You’re not the only one who’s noticed. Caleb won’t shut up about how she won’t talk to him about what’s eating her,” Tanaka threw out, haphazardly. Though James knew the kid meant to comfort him with that fact, it only made James feel less at ease.

From what he could gather, Caleb was Iras’ oldest friend besides Athentia in the academy. With her rotation halted, he spotted the two together more often. Iras assured him, in James’ less dignified moments, that they were merely discussing ways to artificially boost her biotic barriers as she just didn’t have a knack for them. With their increased time spent charting around the place, James hoped to manage to corner Caleb and ask him if he knew anything about her upcoming mission. Now, it seemed, he needn’t bother.

 

* * *

 

 

“Shepard, the doctors say you’re not supposed to walk around too much.”

“The doctors also said that you’re not supposed to be here past visiting hours.”

“Yeah, well, I have a feeling the nurses don’t really want a pissed off turian war hero yelling at them in the middle of the night.”

“You could be right.”

Garrus clicked his mandibles against his chin. Shepard stood at the window for the hospital wing that faced the courtyard. The now flourishing gardens were closed for the night, but the moonlight hit the leaves and pedals just right to make it look washed in silver. A smile ghosted over Shepard’s face, pulling at the scarring that now littered her cheek. Garrus felt bad about that. She purposefully underwent a procedure back when they worked with Cerberus to cover up her scarring after project Lazarus, and now she had new ones to contend with.

Though, this time she seemed to like them. When she thought he wasn’t looking, she’d touch the permanent marks with a small, triumphant smirk on her face.

She no longer needed a constant I.V., though the doctors had her on a firm regime of medications. Within a month she could go home, though they would have to come back to the hospital twice a week for physical therapy and follow-ups to make sure the organs fully integrated with the rest of her system. Shepard, it seemed, beat the odds again. She survived being blown up twice now, and once she’d been fully dead for two years. It was easy for him to let the peaceful idea that Shepard would never die, not really, wash over him in quiet moments like this.

This wing was for the cancer patients. Though, normally, other patients weren’t allowed down here without proper supervision Shepard’s status as the Reaper Killer gave her a certain amount of leeway. No one was shuffling around this area of the hospital, only every other light hummed in the night, and almost every door in the ward was closed to allow patients the rest they needed. Here, they could be as alone as possible.

Garrus padded up behind her, resting his arms on the railing and staring up at the night sky. With the rebuilding of London going at a slow but steady pace, the night sky held the smudges of the Milky Way’s arms. A small part of his chest twinged, and he longed to see the bright oceans, clouded skies, and huge battleships of Palaven.

So caught up in thought, Garrus started a bit when he felt something heavy rest on his shoulder. He glanced, sidelong, to where Shepard rested her head on him. He felt one of her arms come to twine with his, her too many fingers coming to splay over his.

“Moments like this make it worth it,” she breathed.

He hummed, and did his best to bump his head to hers over his caprice. Shepard was learning the turian ways of showing affection quicker than he’d anticipated. He supposed that nurse that stopped by every other week, who was dating one of Garrus’ old superior officers, influenced that. Whenever Shepard showed an active interest in learning more about his people, their ways, their customs, it made him want to just sweep her out of the hospital and take her home himself. He wondered if turian-human marriages had passed the Alliance Senate floor yet.

“Yeah, it does.”

“I can’t wait to go home. I’m getting tired of this place,” she complained.

Garrus squashed the loud bark of a laugh he felt bubbling in his throat, and instead permitted a chuckle.

“So am I.”

“I can’t wait until we can finally have sex.”

Garrus couldn’t help the splutter that passed his plates.  He snapped his head round at her, his eyes widening to the best of his turian ability. If he were human, he was certain his face would be as red as the time when Kaidan walked in on Garrus pinning Shepard to the wall in the Battery all those months ago.

The way her eyes sparked at his embarrassment, and the way her features now twisted into a playful, satisfied grin made Garrus melt on the inside. Yeah, his girl was back. A little battered and worse for wear, but she was back.

He snorted when he finally gathered his composure. He sat up a bit straighter, trying not to let on to the shifting in his plates near his groin, and stated simply:

“Well, in all honestly we could do it here. I’m just not certain that the staff would appreciate the… show…”

“It could be an anatomy lesson.”

“Don’t tempt me, Shepard. It’s been too long, and I’m not sure how far you can push me until I snap,” the warning was in jest, but he made sure to flatten his mandibles to his jaw. The playful glint flickered in her eyes, faltered for a moment, before she snickered and bumped her hip to his.

“If the first thing we do when I go home isn’t fuck like rabbits, I’ll be sorely disappointed in you, Vakarian.”

“I would think you would rather shower in a normal shower first. Or, are you saying you expect the sponge baths to continue?”

“As long as you keep your talons clipped…”

Garrus chuckled, and felt the electricity that had been crackling between them ebb. He reminded himself that, although a war hero, if they fucked in the middle of a hallway he would still get kicked out, turian or not.

 

* * *

 

 

Trying to get into the headspace of a character for deep cover was always the worst. Iras didn’t enjoy it, most didn’t, but it was what she was good at. Her time in Delta, and before that her time under Hackett’s command on his ship, conditioned her to be one of the best covert spies with her particular skill set. As it stood, she knew she was the best equipped to take on this job. That didn’t make shoving the mannerisms of an entirely different person into her own being, her own mind, pressing them, mixing them until they were one with her own personality any easier. If anything, it made it more difficult. She knew her capabilities. The last time she underwent this kind of mission, she went into a drug smuggling ring for Delta for over a month. During that time, she adapted the mindset of a hopeless mercenary turned junkie that worked for the Eclipse for her next red sand fix. It took a medical flush to get the drugs out of her system when they took the ring down, and sometimes she still craved that gritty, pulsing, red sear in her veins.

This, though, this mission was different. Instead of attempting to become someone else completely, she had to alter herself. She’d go in as Iras Bennet, and come out as Iras Bennet. She needed to adopt the mindset of the Alliance abandoning her when she needed the most, of not upholding their end of the bargain for biotics, and the mindset that there were far too many concessions being given to their turian guests. Her new profile read like a Cerberus defector, and it made her skin crawl.

But, duty asked things of her, and she was obliged to answer. Since her powers first activating she knew this would be her life. She owed everything to the Alliance, and her skillset had to be put to use. The Earth, the galaxy… James… everything depended on her being able to finish this mission out.

Dusty areas of her brain she left alone she had to delve back into, root around, and pull out what could be useful for this persona when it had for another. In a way, being a covert operative was being a hoarder. You kept bits and pieces of your former covers as pieces of you, hidden away until they were needed again. The few bits she recalled from former missions were the ones on Illium and Omega, back in the day with Delta. There was one mission where she had to go in as a military grunt who got Cat Sixed, and found her way to Omega to serve under Aria, of all people. That mission was why she made a point to stop by Afterlife whenever she was on the station—though Aria might be a loose cannon out in the Traverse, she helped the Alliance more than she would ever let on. The anger, the resentment Iras cultivated for that mission she began to nurture, nurse back to health, though at the expense of her relationships on base. So far, she’d managed to frustrate Caleb a grand total of six times in a week-a personal record-and Athentia was starting to ask her if she was sure she could handle whatever Hackett had thrown at her.

That wasn’t a question, though. Iras had to handle it. She had to adjust, to be okay with what was going to happen, no matter what. Serving in the Alliance as a marine, an officer, an N7 candidate, didn’t preclude her from the tough shit—if anything, she was being forged to be made for it.

Iras tossed the datapad, tired of staring at the information she had to memorize. Pages upon pages of data, of life events, things she hadn’t lived but had to construct like she had…

The clock on the wall glared at her, a bright red reading of one in the morning. Well, Shelia was going to chew her out again. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Iras pulled up her omni before allowing herself to think too much. She needed a distraction.

 

For the first time in a long time, Iras binged him on his omni in the middle of the night. With the bright orange glow wrenching him from sleep, and the ache in his bones from seeing it was her, James wasted little time pulling himself from bed. In seconds, he shoved a shirt over his head, slipped into a pair of beat up sneakers, and was on his way. Still disconcerted from the day’s musings, he found himself before her door, all nerves and alarm. Nine times out of ten, he was the one to initiate contact this late, a fact James justified by Iras being intensely private. Or, the fact that she knew that every two days or so he’d request to come up, so she just waited him out—either of them he could see the adept relying on. When she did call, though, James did his best to get there within ten minutes, an old habit from when she still trained him.

When the door opened, James was greeted with a sight he saw more and more of. Iras stood in the kitchen, a hand rubbing at her forehead, her eyes closed, and muttering under her breath. The dark circles under her eyes were increasing in vividness, and it looked to James like she was losing weight. She wasn’t dressed in her normal bed attire of a giant shirt and baggy, flannel pants-he made a point to ask her how on earth she slept in Brazil in flannel, but she always dodged the question-and that had his hair on end. Instead, she wore her combat fatigue pants and a stretched out tank.

“Yo,” he greeted.

Iras swiped the door locked behind him from her console, but didn’t look up until he was almost right on her. James reached out, tentatively, until the pads of his fingers brushed against the scar on her face. She jolted, as if waking from sleep, and turned at him with her eyes wide.

“Hey, hey, calm down. You okay?”

Iras looked like she was about to slap his hand away. A dark flicker passed across her features, but it died as soon as it came. She lowered her hand, one he hadn’t realized she raised, and furrowed her brows.

“Yeah… Sorry.”

“You don’t look so good.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It keeps being true,” James wanted to press the issue, but that same flash came over her. Her features steeled, hardened, sharpened to a fine edge, and her muscles tensed to where he could see the line from her jaw forming. He snorted, a sign of his defeat, and withdrew his hand from her face. She blinked at him, then frowned, though the way she tucked her chin down and wrinkled her nose James knew it was at herself rather than him.

Iras scowled and reached out to the hem of his shirt. She didn’t pull him closer, or fist the material, but just leaned against the counter with the it between her fingers so slightly that if he pulled back just a half inch it’d slip from her grip. James liked the small quirk. It reminded him that even someone like Iras was human. He didn’t, however, like how small her wrists had become.

“Sorry,” she breathed. Her eyes shut tight, and James could see the tendon in her neck jump out with a hard, forced swallow.

“You already said that,” he chuckled, despite the lurching of his gut. When she opened her eyes again, the grey tone was softer than he remembered, no longer stony and steel, but something far more brittle.

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Yeah?”

Now was not the time for levity. With the wounded bird look she kept giving him, James knew if he tried to make light of whatever was happening that she might let go of his shirt. Despite his neutral tone, her lips curled, and for the first time that night she pulled him forward by his hem. Invited, James planted one hand on the counter beside her, while the other came to rest on her hip.

“You look so serious, Vega. It’s not like you.” Her voice shook just enough to alert him of her painted on bravado.

“Something wrong?”

“No.”

“You said that too quick for there _not_ to be something up.”

“I,” Iras jutted her jaw out at him, her eyes narrowing. It was childish, and small, and petty, and it made James want to just bury his hands in her hair and laugh. The dark circles and ill-kempt hair kept him from that. She opened her mouth to try to say something, some biting remark meant to rebuke him, and potentially send him back to his room-it wouldn’t be the first time-but instead she sighed, shut her mouth, and thumped her forehead against his collarbone. The impact sent a small ripple through his body, to his chest, where it sat heavy and firm. She still hadn’t let go of his shirt.

“I can’t tell you.”

She directed it more at herself than at James, but he got the message anyway. Whatever mission she was about to embark on, whenever she left, was tearing her up inside and she couldn’t tell him anything about it. In that moment, she looked small.

“Hey, hey,” his voice softened when he saw how her eyes narrowed, again. She didn’t like that she couldn’t tell him. She teetered on the edge of some chasm, and it was clear to James that she wanted his help. When she didn’t look up at him, he snorted and cupped her face as gentle as he could, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I got you.” He wanted to add that he didn’t mind that she couldn’t tell him, but that would’ve been a lie. He did care. He cared a lot. He wanted to scoop her up and take her away from whatever kept making her make that face, like she was hapless in the face of a massive wave coming barreling towards her.

She made a half-mocking grunt, but her grip on his shirt tightened. Again, she opened her mouth to say something, but faltered, and settled for just closing her eyes.

“Damn it, James, when you’re this nice, I can’t…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

* * *

 

 

Iras didn’t think she’d ever get enough of seeing how James looked at ungodly hours in the morning. His eyes were puffy from interrupted sleep, what little of his hair that was free to do so was sticking up at odd ends, and his breathing pattern was still a deep, steady rhythm that was soothing. She wanted to tell him that she was going to be gone for a long time. That was why she called him up, well, one of them. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to wait, she didn’t expect him to, and that he was more than free to do whoever or whatever he pleased while she was gone. But, when he walked through that door that bravery fleeted out the window.

She expected him to kiss her. That’s what he did when he came this close, all but caging her against the island. Instead, he firmed his lips before pressing his forehead to hers, as if resisting his instinct.

“Hey, do you mind if I kiss you?”

Iras blinked, taken aback by his politeness. It made her cheeks heat with both embarrassment and a weird giddy emotion in the pit of her chest. She couldn’t help the bubbly laughter that escaped her lips, or the way she crinkled her nose when his eyes narrowed at her. God, his eyelashes were so long, so dark, and his look so sincere that it almost stopped her giggling.

“James, you don’t have to _ask_. Not that it isn’t adorable.”

“Yeah I do. You’ve been wired weird lately. Didn’t want to risk you smearing me on a wall.”

“I think I’d get more than solitary for that.”

“Probably.”

Iras felt the tension that had built in her shoulders and back the rest of that day start to melt. She couldn’t help her quick glance from his lips back up to his eyes, and she noted the building ire in them, his patience wearing thin.

“Hey, Knuckles, answer the question.”

“I suppose.”

James seemed to exist to frustrate and surprise Iras. He didn’t charge in, like she expected or wanted him to, but instead pressed his lips to hers in more of a grazing motion than a kiss. She snorted, moved to chastise him, but only managed to get out an indignant grunt when he sealed her protest. She hissed in an inhale, before melting against him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she allowed him leverage to press closer as he slid his tongue against her lower lip.

She didn’t know what it was about James’ smell in the middle of the night, but it was intoxicating. Maybe it was the soap he used when showering before bed, or the lotion he used to keep his tattoos in top shape, but it melted around her, invading every pore until she felt like she was covered in soft velvet. So, by the time James tilted her head a bit to the left, and began to all but devour her mouth, she was already thrumming with pleasure. One of his hands pushed her hips firm against the counter, his own coming to crowd hers, while the other skirted up her spine through her shirt in a maddening, slow, light touch.

He pulled away just as suddenly as he had attacked her, only to pepper his mouth along the nape of her neck.

“Shit, you smell _awesome_.”

Iras barked a laugh, pressing the heel of her palm to one eye.

“I haven’t even showered today, Vega. I smell like sweat.”

“Then your sweat is sexy. And salty.”

Iras bit her lip to keep in the sound that bordered her vocal cords when he laved at her pulse. She gripped onto the counter to keep her knees from getting any weaker from the shocks that his nibbling created.

“Iras,” she jumped at her name being murmured into her skin. His breath was hot, too hot against her already heated skin, and with his body everywhere she felt like she was caged in a furnace. He pressed further against her, if that was possible, and she felt his need press hard against her stomach. “Are we gonna…?”

“What is with you and asking permission tonight?”

Iras yelped when his teeth dug into her shoulder, a bright light of pain sharpening behind her eyes. She swatted at his head, and had he not just cut his hair she would have pulled what was there. When he released her, he let out a low growl, then licked at the wound.

“Don’t tease me. I can’t take it right now.”

“You do know that makes me want to tease you more, right?”

“Do you want to sleep tonight?”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Keep talking and you’ll find out.”

“Ohhh, I like the way you think, _James_.” She purred his name, and she felt his restraint snap in the way his corded shoulders tensed. He gave her a wild look, dark with something that made her stomach flip, and her mouth tingle and go dry.

“That’s it. Get over here!”

Iras yelped when he snapped her hips to collide, if possible, closer to his. She had just enough time to laugh, her hands gripping at his shirt from surprise, before he hoisted her up into the air by the back of her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from falling--she did trust him not to drop her, but she knew how much it drove James crazy when she did this. His mouth fell on her neck. He kissed and bit at it just shy of being hungry, and when he suctioned down on the spot next to her ear she shivered, her arms coming to wrap around his neck.

“What is it with you and necks…?” Iras breathed. She didn’t particularly like when he started walking them towards her room. She didn’t like having her back facing towards anything. But, she gave James this one bit of leeway, after all, the man was amazing with his hands.

His chuckle against her sent reverberations down to her stomach and made it twist like a coiling snake.

“I only do it since you like it so much.” His lips moved against her as he spoke, his breath fanning out, pushing its way to bath the shell of her ear in a damp heat. It sent little bolts throughout her body, and if she hadn’t been before she was now acutely aware of every inch of James. From his hands holding onto her thighs a bit too hard, the tips sinking into what little fat was there, to the way his chest tightened to keep her up, and to the feel of his voice thrumming on her skin, made the whole world narrow down to just him, and just this room.

She watched her apartment in reverse, the couch being passed over, the desk, until they cruised by her modest bookshelf. In a future with so little need for real, actual books made with paper, she wondered why they were still called bookshelves. She didn’t get to spend much time musing over the idiosyncrasies of the changing galaxy, James wouldn’t allow her to just drift somewhere he couldn’t follow.

Just as abruptly as he had hauled her off her feet, Iras flew through the air. She hit her bed with a grunt, the mattress shuddering around her at the impact. She sat on her elbows, momentarily winded, and tried to look put-off at James but when her eyes hit his she hissed in a breath. He had that smirk, the one that let her know she wasn’t going anywhere-and might not walk straight the next day. She wiped her hands on the sheets under her as he toyed with the bottom of his shirt.

“You gonna keep the lights on?”

“And deprive myself of the show? Not likely, Vega.”

Iras swallowed when he ripped his shirt off. God, why were his shoulders so broad? Her stomach lurched when he stuck his thumbs in the hem of his sweats.

“These too?”

“What, are you trying to give me a striptease? You’re doing a terrible job.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re staring so hard.”

She couldn’t help the snort, nor the way a smile split her features for the first time that night. When he just stood there, a shit-eating grin on his face, she decided to up the ante. She slid back a bit on the bed, bunching the sheets under her, and spread her legs lazily across the bed.

James’ smirk flickered a second, a glimmer of something stormy and just contained. He let out a low breath as his only betrayal to how hard she hit, before he crawled onto the bed after her, pants still on.

“Oh, you’re evil. Now it’s on.”

“Promises, promises.”

 

* * *

 

 

Iras let out a long, shaky breath. She splayed her fingers on the sheets under her, and buried her forehead in the pillow. God, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to just how full she felt whenever James entered, or how the way he groaned just right under his breath made prickles go down her spine. She shifted her knees, trying to spread her legs as wide as possible while still being upright, as he pushed further and further in. When at last his hips pressed against her rear, she relaxed her back a bit, and slid her eyes closed.

She listened to him hum under his breath, shuddered when he grinded in place while waiting for a sign to continue. He skated his palms around the swell of her ass, kneading what little fat was left after months and months of training after coming back into the program. The catching of his callouses on her skin tugged at her core, made her let out low noises she would later deny making. When she felt she could handle him moving, when she’d adjusted, she arched back against him, and made sure to shoot him a look over her shoulder.

He towered behind her, despite their heights being more similar than he cared to admit. All that muscle made him seem impossibly wide and intimidating, and had it been their first time together she might’ve been overwhelmed. But, James was a damn paradox, for all his strength and bigness, he didn’t handle her roughly unless she wanted him to.

Tonight, she wanted him to.

James’ lip lifted in a small snarl as he pulled back and snapped back forward. She couldn’t help the small yelp that happened, nor the way her hips shook when he did it again and again. She sat up as best she could on her hands and knees, pulling herself up from her elbows just as his fingers sank into her hips. He paused, just enough to make her whine at him, just enough to make the friction that had been starting to build in her core ache from the absence, but then he grinded around until he found just the right leverage. It came with a few stars bursting in front of her eyes, and the feeling that her stomach dropped out of her body but was wrapped in iron at the same time.

“Fuck!” Iras hissed. She clenched her jaw when he pulled her back against him, insistent, and kept hitting that damn spot. He set up a steady but firm rhythm that had each thrust brushing against that ridge in the front of her opening.

James muttered something about hot under his breath. She would have jumped when she felt his hand grasp one of her wrists if she hadn’t been busy trying to keep up with his now quickening pace. He pulled her back, and she went willingly as long as he kept doing whatever the hell it was he was doing, until her shoulders pressed against his chest.

“Spread your legs a bit more.”

“James, wait, if you do that-” she knew his game, but she didn’t get time to protest before one hand did the job for her. She winced at the depth his dick now reached, both from pleasure and from a small sting of pain. One of his arms came to wrap around her middle, anchoring her in position, while the one that had spread her further apart began a swift climb up her thigh.

“Shiiiiit.” Iras’ hips jumped when his finger pressed against her already over-sensitive clit. She thumped her head against his collarbone, her eyes screwing shut as he resumed his driving pace into her.

He cooed in her ear in Spanish, a long procession of words she couldn’t be bothered to try to translate. The puff of his breath against the shell of her ear, on the already peppered skin of her neck, was almost too much in conjunction with his thrusting and circling. She gripped onto the arm that held her in place, fingernails biting into the skin. He grunted, his thrusting stuttered, before he regained form with increased intensity.

Iras sagged against his arms, letting out one moan after another. Every move James made was calculated, and each time she came dangerously close to orgasm he’d alter his depth, or skirt away from her clit until she came back from that teetering edge. Soon, her body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and the room she made sure to set to a cool 68 degrees Fahrenheit felt like a smothering, humid dessert. When denied her third, maybe fourth, attempt to orgasm her eyes slid open and she stared blindly at the headboard of her bed. Her hips were going numb, and her body shook despite herself from her toes to her fingers.

“James, please.”

“Please, what?” She could hear the sneer in his voice. One thing she learned over the last few months was that he could be a sadistic asshole in bed when he put his mind to it. He liked to make her a shivering mess, and though it felt good-so good-she let out a frustrated growl when he pulled his hand away from her clit all together.

“Just do it. Please. I can’t…” Iras let out a high whine when he thrust up particularly hard, stars flashing in her vision.

When he didn’t comply, Iras decided to play dirty. She turned as best she could and started to moan and hiss in French, the words just barely ghosting over what little of his chest she had access to.

His eyes darkened, and his plush lips firmed into an indistinguishable line.

“You little shit.”

She laughed, or whatever she could pass off as a laugh when every thrust he made caused her voice to hitch. He withdrew his arms as quickly as he pulled her up, and she fell forward, almost boneless. She caught herself on an elbow, her breathing now erratic and harried. James pressed down after her, holding her hips in place with one hand, while the other rushed to the apex of her thighs.

Iras buried her face into the bed under her when he resumed his merciless rubbing of her bundle of nerves. His body curved heavily against hers, his teeth bit at the back of her neck, and she was certain that she’d have multiple half-moon bruises along her waist and ass in the morning.

This time, when the coil tightened to where she felt her insides would melt, he didn’t pull away, but instead urged her over that precipice. Her world shattered, and all that mattered was how hard she could grip the sheets, and how James’ mouth trailing over her spine felt.

 

* * *

 

 

Iras didn’t want to look at the clock. She didn’t need to see the time to know that the sun had risen a few hours ago, nor did she need to check outside to hear the shouts of new recruits being put through the beginning paces of Hell. What she did know, though, was how her thighs ached, and how James kept tracing random figures on her back with his palm. She fell asleep-more like passed out-after the third time James caught his breath. When she slept, it was depthless, dark, and dreamless, a peace she hadn’t experienced in weeks. Even now, stirring awake with her eyes bleary on the wall across from her, her legs tangled in the remains of her sheets, and her side tucked against James’ leg the old anxiety from before remained at bay.

It disturbed her how, lately, all it took was his presence to calm her skittering thoughts. They were getting too close.

But, the consequences of their crumbling barriers could be addressed later. All the mattered was the soothing feel of the callouses on his palm doing wonderful things to her spine. Each pass where the scar from that fucking Suns merc from her first month in Delta, damn turians that didn’t keep their talons clipped, sent a nice little thrum through her still overstimulated body. Her skin burned in all the right places and a warmth still cascaded over her overworked nerves. She couldn’t muster up the strength to move from her position, and instead just rose her head onto her folded arms, and gave a small, tenuous smile at James.

“How long have you been awake?” Her voice sounded like her bones felt—wobbly, uneven, and well used.

James did that thing with his teeth, where he didn’t quite worry his whole lower lip but just a bit beyond her vision, that sucked in the edge of the scar on his mouth. It did things to her, always had, even when they first met when he came into the gym that day. She toyed with the idea of telling him how she found him attractive from first glance, but decided his ego didn’t need any stroking.

James shrugged, his massive shoulders bouncing with the exaggerated motion.

“Dunno.”

Iras laughed harder than she meant to. She ran a hand through her now tangled and sweat streaked hair, grunting at the knots her fingers encountered and had to contend with.

“Liar.”

“Not lying. Not really. I really don’t know.”

“How long have you been pawing at my back?”

“This isn’t pawing, this is…” James struggled for the word. He looked up and to the left, the sure sign that he went into waters his brain wasn’t capable of handling this soon after waking. That answered that question, she thought with a snicker. He huffed at her, then lowered himself down onto one elbow, his body curling against hers. “Cuddling.”

“Nice recovery.” She thought of continuing to chide him, but the hand that had been tracing up and down the thickest scar on her back, the one that intersected her spine just above the dimples of her ass, traced over the swell of her hip. She arched a brow at him, her breath hitching just enough to make his eyes spark, and a big grin begin to spread from ear to ear.

“ _This_ is pawing.”

He pushed her fold apart with his wrist, leading her legs to part further, before his thumb and fingers began a languid stroke over her slit. Iras winced, shuddered, and pressed her head into his collarbone. When he attempted to press a finger into her, she hissed, jerked, and James sat bolt upright.

“Shit, sorry. Are you sore?” He sat up, robbing her of the heat of his body. She resisted the chuckle when he situated himself behind her, and urged her legs apart. He spread her cheeks, and if it didn’t cause a small wisp of stinging pain to course over her entrance she might have laughed at the seriousness on his face. Instead, she thumped her forehead into the pillow.

“Yeah. So stop touching it.”

“Damn, you’re all red. Do you want some medigel?”

The familiar whirl of his omni being summoned sang in her ears. She glanced over her shoulder, watched him poke around with the settings until his brows furrowed.

“I’m fine. Just chaffed. If you keep going all night like that, we might need lube.”

“And more condoms.”

“We’ve seriously gone through that whole box?”

“Almost.”

“The thing had a hundred in it. It looked like the shit you buy in one of those bulk stores!”

“And,” satisfied that Iras hadn’t kicked him out of the bed for fucking her raw, James climbed back over her to reclaim his spot crooked against her, “I don’t know if you noticed, Knuckles, but we go at it. A lot. Not as much lately, but when we do, damn!”

Iras noted the flash of something dark over James’ face. The way his brows twitched, and his mouth ticked down in a quick, then vanished, frown made her chest twist. That was fair. They hadn’t been hooking up as often in the last two weeks because of her impending deployment. Knowing that, she almost didn’t fault James for making her wonder if she needed to put medigel on when he left—she didn’t dare while he was here. For all the machismo that James liked to project, he was one of the most sensitive, caring men she knew. When she first began to get to know him, she thought it was a paradox. After all, every other jarhead she knew came with the warning label of ‘emotionally constipated,’ but James seemed to live to shatter her expectations.

Iras shifted onto her side so that he could pull her back flush against him. Though not tired, she could picture herself drifting into a nice, peaceful doze in that moment.

But, the second she no longer faced him, James seemed restless. He squirmed, his arm around her seemed to not be able to find a comfortable angle in which to hold her, and finally he grumbled in her ear.

“Hey… I’ve been thinking of a way to try to tell you something.”

Iras’ stomach dropped. His voice, usually so blasé and flippant, had the same tone when he first entered her room for the night. She tensed up, her hands clenching in the sheets, and she fought the need to look over at him.

 

 

 

 


End file.
